free, grasping at the stump of his wrist, frantically trying to stop the pulsing blood.
“Get him out of there,” snapped Helge. “You two., Knutsen and Ingstadt, take him back to the other ship. Sear the stump, bind it up. Then come back. We need you.”
He turned away, handing the ax back to the stunned woodcutter. There was a low mutter around the circle as the two sailors jumped down to assist the injured man. Helge glanced back, appearing irritated, then turned again to walk on up the trail ahead. Nils followed.
“My God in heaven, Helge! Why did you do that?”
Helge turned on him.
“Do what?” he challenged.
“The hand,” Nils sputtered. “We could have rolled the ship back.”
“And lose half a day!”
“But Helge, the man…”
“Look, Thorsson, the hand was crushed. No use to him. I helped him get it over with. The incident is finished, and we can move on. Now, I want to get this far tonight.”
Nils did not even see, as Helge pointed around a level clearing where he hoped to rest the
Norsemaiden
for the night. He was thinking of the scene back at the other ship. They would bind the wrist to control bleeding, while an ax head was heated in the fire. The flat side of the heated steel would sear the stump to close the severed ends of the blood vessels.
He looked at Helge as if he had never seen him before. Could this be the man with whom he had grown up, his childhood friend? Here was a side of Helge Landsverk that he had never seen. Cruel, practical, almost sadistic. Had his friend gone mad? Maybe it was the influence of this strange wild country. But no, he thought not. It seemed more like…Was Helge reverting back to the violence of the old Viking days? A generation or two ago, the Norse raiders had had a well-deserved reputation for cruelty. Nils recalled now that Helge had once related a humorous incident about his grandfather’s experiences. It involved the torture of captured enemies, flaying alive, and dismemberment, while wagering over how long the victim would live. It had seemed far away, impersonal.
Now it had become real. Nils could easily believe that his friend had related the torture story with a spirit of admiration.
My God
, he thought,
how did I get into this?
He found himselfa little bit afraid of his friend.
What if it had been
my
hand?
Nils thought.
Would my friend have been so quick with the ax?
“What are you staring at?” Landsverk demanded.
Nils was jerked back to reality.
“What? Oh, nothing, Helge. I was only thinking.”
“Yes,” Helge said absently. “Well, we can rest the ship here tonight. Level ground, plenty of room for sleeping. Then, tomorrow …”
Helge’s voice droned on, as he pointed to places on the trail that held potential hazard. Nils’s attention strayed away again. It was like listening to a stranger talk about events that had no meaning. He devoutly wished that he was back in Norway among known places and events. Yet here he was, beyond the sea, on an expedition commanded by a man whose sanity must surely be questioned. Weil, there was nothing but to play it out to the end.
“Are you all right, Thorsson?”
“Of course,” Nils answered steadily. “Shall we move on with the ship?”
They turned back down the trail.
With pulleys, ropes, and levers ready, they continued the task of dragging the
Norsemaiden
. Nils tried not to look as Rafn’s misshapen hand dropped free of the roller. He saw one of the men cross himself and pick up the crushed object, probably to bury it later. He hoped so. He had considered doing that himself.
It was about that time that a distant scream came from the direction of the
Snowbird
. Long, and filled with unmistakable evidence of pain and terror, it echoed along the ridge. Nils, like the others, pretended not to hear. Everyone knew that the stump of Rafn’s right wrist was being treated.
The
Norsemaiden
crept on silently, the expression in the dragon’s eye on her prow unchanging.
Odin, the
“Get him out of there,” snapped Helge. “You two., Knutsen and Ingstadt, take him back to the other ship. Sear the stump, bind it up. Then come back. We need you.”
He turned away, handing the ax back to the stunned woodcutter. There was a low mutter around the circle as the two sailors jumped down to assist the injured man. Helge glanced back, appearing irritated, then turned again to walk on up the trail ahead. Nils followed.
“My God in heaven, Helge! Why did you do that?”
Helge turned on him.
“Do what?” he challenged.
“The hand,” Nils sputtered. “We could have rolled the ship back.”
“And lose half a day!”
“But Helge, the man…”
“Look, Thorsson, the hand was crushed. No use to him. I helped him get it over with. The incident is finished, and we can move on. Now, I want to get this far tonight.”
Nils did not even see, as Helge pointed around a level clearing where he hoped to rest the
Norsemaiden
for the night. He was thinking of the scene back at the other ship. They would bind the wrist to control bleeding, while an ax head was heated in the fire. The flat side of the heated steel would sear the stump to close the severed ends of the blood vessels.
He looked at Helge as if he had never seen him before. Could this be the man with whom he had grown up, his childhood friend? Here was a side of Helge Landsverk that he had never seen. Cruel, practical, almost sadistic. Had his friend gone mad? Maybe it was the influence of this strange wild country. But no, he thought not. It seemed more like…Was Helge reverting back to the violence of the old Viking days? A generation or two ago, the Norse raiders had had a well-deserved reputation for cruelty. Nils recalled now that Helge had once related a humorous incident about his grandfather’s experiences. It involved the torture of captured enemies, flaying alive, and dismemberment, while wagering over how long the victim would live. It had seemed far away, impersonal.
Now it had become real. Nils could easily believe that his friend had related the torture story with a spirit of admiration.
My God
, he thought,
how did I get into this?
He found himselfa little bit afraid of his friend.
What if it had been
my
hand?
Nils thought.
Would my friend have been so quick with the ax?
“What are you staring at?” Landsverk demanded.
Nils was jerked back to reality.
“What? Oh, nothing, Helge. I was only thinking.”
“Yes,” Helge said absently. “Well, we can rest the ship here tonight. Level ground, plenty of room for sleeping. Then, tomorrow …”
Helge’s voice droned on, as he pointed to places on the trail that held potential hazard. Nils’s attention strayed away again. It was like listening to a stranger talk about events that had no meaning. He devoutly wished that he was back in Norway among known places and events. Yet here he was, beyond the sea, on an expedition commanded by a man whose sanity must surely be questioned. Weil, there was nothing but to play it out to the end.
“Are you all right, Thorsson?”
“Of course,” Nils answered steadily. “Shall we move on with the ship?”
They turned back down the trail.
With pulleys, ropes, and levers ready, they continued the task of dragging the
Norsemaiden
. Nils tried not to look as Rafn’s misshapen hand dropped free of the roller. He saw one of the men cross himself and pick up the crushed object, probably to bury it later. He hoped so. He had considered doing that himself.
It was about that time that a distant scream came from the direction of the
Snowbird
. Long, and filled with unmistakable evidence of pain and terror, it echoed along the ridge. Nils, like the others, pretended not to hear. Everyone knew that the stump of Rafn’s right wrist was being treated.
The
Norsemaiden
crept on silently, the expression in the dragon’s eye on her prow unchanging.
Odin, the
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