While fixing the Gestrisni went about as well as Einarr could have hoped, that still left them groping for an answer, or even just a clue, of how to get past the magic trapping them here.
“We may have to just go, with the expectation of being turned back once,” Runa finally said. Arkja’s men had already told them what little they knew – some of it from personal experience.
Einarr frowned and crossed his arms. The old fisherman who “welcomed” them to the island was still, days later, nowhere to be found on shore. If it weren’t for the furnished cabin near their boat, he might have wondered if the man really existed.
“You’re not wrong,” Einarr said finally. I don’t like the idea of wasting time that way, but it does begin to seem as though nobody knows.”
“Seems to me,” Jorir mused, “that the waste of time would be sticking around after she’s fixed, looking for information that may not even exist.”
Erik harrumphed. Einarr nodded.
“That is, more or less, the conclusion I was reaching. I kind of wish we had Sivid along right now, though.”
Irding raised an eyebrow. Arkja, as the only member of the newcomers working on the escape plan instead of loading, looked confused.
Einarr smiled at the confusion. “Irding, you’ve only been aboard a few months, so maybe you haven’t noticed yet. Sivid may be Unlucky, but everything seems to work out when he’s around.”
“Then why’s he unlucky?” Arkja asked.
Einarr smiled again. He couldn’t give the whole answer – that wasn’t his to tell – but he didn’t have to. “Bad at dice.”
“And that earned him a moniker?”
“You’ll understand when you meet him.”
The leader of the newcomers shrugged. “Do you still need me, then? The boys could use a hand with the loading.”
“Go ahead. I expect the rest of us will be along shortly… Actually, I think we’re basically done here. Irding, why don’t you go with him?”
Erik’s son tipped his head in assent and followed the one-time tavern keeper off to the ship, where he would supervise as much as help. Erik and Jorir had agreed to give the manifest a final check, and so soon it was once again just Einarr and Runa.
Finally. In all the activity, Einarr still hadn’t managed to make his request of her.
Runa had started to turn away, likely headed for their camp and the cook fire.
“Wait a moment.”
She turned back, her brows raised questioningly.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask of you for a while now, actually…”
She did not fill the silence, merely waited expectantly for him to continue. For Einarr’s part, he kept telling himself it was a stupid thing to be embarrassed about – not that that made him less so, of course.
“Runa, will you teach me how to read the runes? With everything that’s gone on, if we hadn’t had a Singer along we never would have made it out. But I’m not always going to be able to rely on having someone else available to interpret…”
Runa held up a hand to stop his babbling. “Of course I will teach you, Runes and something of Story both. I would like for us to actually be wed one day, rather than being a widowed maid.”
Einarr inclined his head, and was surprised at the hoarseness of his voice when he said “Thank you.”
The morning after all was deemed to be in readiness, the strange old fisherman returned to shore. Einarr first caught sight of him ambling down the shore from the south, which struck him as odd: even now, none of them had seen the man’s boat.
“Good morrow!” He raised a hand in greeting as the old man continued up the beach towards them.
“Is it?” he growled, a familiar echo of their first day on the island. “I wonder.”
“Of course it is. We’re finally ready to try our luck.”
The old man stopped a moment to stare at the repaired Gestrisni, apparently unimpressed. He harrumphed and resumed his walk up the beach, ignoring the fools on their quest.
A wild impulse seized Einarr. “We’ve still got room aboard, if you want to test your fate with ours.”
The old man stopped again, threw back his head, and laughed. “Why would I steal you kids’ chance of getting off?”
Einarr’s mind went momentarily blank, but when he opened his mouth the only possible answer spilled forth, almost of its own volition. “Because the captain of this vessel has been named a Cursebreaker.”
The old man shook his head now. “That’s the only reason I think you have a chance at all, kid. Leave this old fool to his justly earned exile.”
Einarr shared a look with Runa, then shook his head. He was curious, but they had wasted too much time on this accursed island already. The men from the Vidofnir and the Skudbrun were waiting. Einarr and Runa walked toward their ship.
“Milord?” Arkja popped his head up over the railing. “There’s some sort of large jar on the deck. Where do you want it?”
Einarr blinked. How had that gotten here? He sighed, shaking his head. “Just stow it in the hold, I guess. Make use of it if you can.”
“A… jar?” Runa looked at him sidelong.
“It’s a long story. We’ll have time on our way.”
Runa hummed, looking amused, and let it rest.
That evening, Runa performed the Lay of Raen at Einarr’s request, and for the benefit of the newcomers. In the melancholy mood that always followed, Jorir and the other Vidofnings gathered together near the prow of the boat to talk. It wasn’t private, but it was as near as they could manage.
Staring out over the railing at the stars on the sea, Jorir scratched his beard thoughtfully. “It’s a shame we couldn’t do anything for the old man.”
Even as Einarr was nodding in agreement, Arkja’s brows knit in confusion from just outside their circle. “Old man? What old man?”
“The old fisherman on the beach? I told him we still had room, but he refused?”
The erstwhile tavern keeper slowly shook his head. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but there was no old man on the beach. That shack you kept checking has stood empty for as long as anyone I’ve ever talked to can remember.”
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One thought on “6.32 – Departure”
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