Nena Page 2

  “Jarl,” she called after him.

  “Yes?”

  “There is one thing you could bring me.”

  “What is it?”

  “I would have coal and parchment. I have a few ideas for your ship that I would like to share with Sigurd. If I could sketch them during the day when they are fresh in my mind, I could show him at night.”

  “I’ll bring them tomorrow,” Jarl agreed.

  Leila loved seeing the spark back in Sigurd’s eyes. There was a spring in his step as he moved about the cabin—pouring them each a cup of water while he waited for the latest stew Jarl had brought to warm over the fire. True to his word, after the logs were hauled, he had refused any further help from Jarl and had banished him from the work site—though Jarl more than continued to live up to his end of the bargain. Not only was their shed already filled to the eaves with split firewood and their larder full of a variety of fresh and smoked meats, he always brought something extra, some specially prepared food—a loaf of fresh baked bread, a pie, a pouch of soup or stew. She had pointed Jarl’s extra efforts out to Sigurd in hopes that he would ease his restriction and accept Jarl’s help, but he had not.

  After they finished eating and he had cleared away their dishes, Sigurd showed her his crude sketch of a dragon’s head and neck. The skeleton frame of the ship was complete, and he was preparing to start on the bow. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s nice, but...”

  “But what?”

  “You have made similar before.”

  “Yes,” he said, as he glanced back at his scribble, his brow furrowed as he tried to identify what she didn’t like about it.

  “This one needs to be different,” she challenged. “Special.”

  “I could use another animal, I suppose, but which would be better than a dragon?”

  “Why not all of them?”

  He looked at her blankly, and Leila was sure he must be thinking she had lost her mind.

  “I have given this a lot of thought, so hear me out before you speak,” she continued. “Why not use the dragon’s head, but give it scales on its neck, each the size of a man’s hand. On each scale you can carve the symbol of another animal. Then the ship can possess and draw from the power of all, rather than just one.”

  “That would take meticulous carving,” he said frowning, but she could tell he was excited by the idea.

  “It would, and you can do it.”

  “Bear, bull, horse.” He started to list under his breath.

  “Fish, gull, ram,” she added. “I can sketch them for you. Not the whole beast, only a symbol of their greatest strength—their essence, if you will. Like this.” She picked up the coal and began to sketch an eagle’s head and beak, curved to fit into in the shape of a dragon’s scale, then a porcupine’s spiny back, a panther’s paw print. She looked up at him. He nodded.

  “And the dragon’s head? I suppose you have an idea for that as well?” he asked.

  She smiled and nodded before pulling a completed sketch from the middle of the stack of blank parchments.

  Sigurd whistled between his teeth.

  Her eyes searched his face. “What are your honest thoughts?” she asked.

  “Honestly? I think you overestimate my skill as a carver.”

  “I do not.”

  “It is stunning and beautiful, but...well, the detail is too fine. It would not hold up to what a ship must—storms, battles.”

  “I thought of that, too. What if it was made from ironwood?”

  “Ironwood?”

  “Only the head.”

  “That’s impossible. It would be hard enough to carve this detail from a soft wood, but ironwood? Impossible,” he repeated.

  “Not impossible,” she disagreed. “Difficult, yes, but not impossible. And if it could be done, would it hold up?”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding and frowning at the same time. “If it could be done, it would probably outlast the rest of the ship.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Good.”

  “I didn’t say I would do it,” he protested. “There are other concerns.”

  “Like?”

  “Like...like the color of the wood would not match, for one.” He stammered, struggling to come up with something. He noticed her smug expression. “But I see you have thought of that as well.”

  “I had thought to save that for another day; I knew you would be concerned about the carving and thought it might be best not to overwhelm you.”

  “Spill it, woman. What else do you have planned for my ship?”

  “Our ship,” Leila corrected him before continuing. “You and I have accumulated much gold over the years, have we not?”

  “Aye. Our raiding was always successful.”

  “We have no children left to leave it to, and have more than we can spend. Certainly more than I will ever spend, and even if your next wife enjoys silks and jewels, there should be plenty to accommodate her.”

  “Do not say such things. Even in jest. You know there will never be another woman for me. So yes, we have plenty of gold.”

  “Could some of it be melted down and somehow...wiped or dipped on the head and scales? I’m envisioning it thicker on the head—to make it appear as if it were made from solid gold, then becoming less and less down the neck in the scales, until it melds into the natural golden color of the wood at the bottom in the body of the ship.”

  “You would dip the wood in gold?”

  “I don’t know how it would be done—dip, pour...burnish it somehow.” She was shocked when he did not reject the idea immediately.

  “I shall have to give that consideration. I don’t know if it can be done. Perhaps I could consult the blacksmith. He might know a way.”

  Leila smiled again, suddenly very tired. “Good.”

  Sigurd carried her to the work area every morning. Once he was satisfied that she was snug and warm in her mound of furs and had water and food within her easy reach, he went to work in the vale below. Sometimes she napped. Sometimes she sketched. Sometimes she sat just watching him.

  Leila loved seeing him like this. Happy. Productive. Creative. He was in his element. She would not let her failing body take that from him—would not have him reduced back to the sad man who was watching her die. She fought back the nausea, refusing to succumb to it—pooling all of her strength whenever he would come to show her something or ask her advice. She would not let him see how weak she was becoming. How fast it was happening now. When he returned to his work, she would collapse into her furs, exhausted by the effort.

  Sigurd worked like a man possessed. He loved what he did. Loved that they were taking on this enormous project together. He wanted desperately for her to see it to completion. He carried her to see each of the dragon scale carvings up close as he completed them—her visions brought to life with his chisel, blade, and rasp.

  Jarl was often waiting for them at the cabin at night. Sigurd didn’t like it, but he didn’t complain, not after seeing Leila eating the special things Jarl brought for her. She seemed stronger to him. Whether it was the fresh air, or the excitement of the shared project, or the extra food she managed to eat so as not to offend Jarl, he didn’t know, but he was not about to risk changing anything.

  Sigurd held her up to show her the latest scale he had completed, a raven’s eye.

  Leila nodded. “It is good. It will give the ship the protection of raven’s sight.”

  “That leaves only one,” he said. “Will you show me your idea now?”

  She nodded again. “I have the last sketch back at my furs. Can you guess it?” she asked as he carried her back up the hill. “I’ll give you a hint. It is the most cunning, powerful animal of all.”

  “Surely we have not missed an animal with such power,” he said “And you say the most powerful? More powerful than the dragon?” He could see she was enjoying stumping him so he continued to guess long past when he had tired of the game.

  “Do you give
up?” she finally asked.

  “Aye,” he smiled.

  “It is man.”

  He frowned as he gently positioned her back in her nest of furs. “But men will be on the boat. What have you drawn? A sword? A shield? A battle-axe?” He reached for the sheaf of paper, but she pulled it tight against her breast.

  “What is the most important power the gods have bestowed upon man?”

  He shook his head as she handed him her last sketch. He balked. “This?” he asked.

  “It is love. More powerful than a man’s battle-axe. More powerful than his sword or shield. More powerful than even his mind. It is so powerful, it can make him do things his mind tells him are impossible or foolish. It can give him resolve or courage when he has none. It is his greatest strength, and it’s the true essence of man—like the raven’s eye, or the crab’s claw, or the scallop’s shell. We have added all the great animal powers to make the ship stealthy, fleet, and strong, in order to protect her and to make her invincible in battle. We have ensured all of those things. Now we must ensure that this ship is blessed not only to find the physical riches that her captain seeks, but to make sure he finds the greatest treasure of all.”

  Sigurd stared at her, shocked by the profoundness of her thoughts. “I would so easily give up everything I ever had and live the poorest pauper, if it meant spending more time with you.” His face twisted with the pain that he was normally able to hide.

  She smiled as she touched his cheek. “I know. And I you. Which is why this one is the most important. It will capture the essence of that love, our love, and be the most powerful blessing of all.”

  He nodded and brushed his eyes.

  “And the position of the last scale?” she asked. “Where is it?”

  “Where you requested—just above the waterline on the starboard side.”

  “Over the dragon’s heart,” they said simultaneously, sharing a smile.

  “I’m not sure what Jarl will have to say about it.” Sigurd frowned.

  “If you do not think he will want it, or is ready for it, then don’t tell him.”

  Sigurd glanced back at the sketch of the two figures entwined in a loving embrace. No details, easy to carve, but so clear, as were all her drawings, capturing and expressing the pure essence of whatever it was she had drawn.

  “I will do it.”

  “And if Jarl notices it and complains, then tell him you were only honoring the fancy of a dying woman. He seems very serious. Driven. I don’t think he would understand or appreciate the truth. It will be our secret. And Sigurd, I have one last request, if you agree. We did not build this ship for coin. Jarl has paid enough already with his deposit to more than cover any costs. Do not accept the remainder of what is owed. Instead, tell him when he no longer feels the drive to seek riches, he must give the ship to someone else. Someone worthy. No coin or favor is to ever change hands for her. He must swear to that and agree to make subsequent captains swear to it as well. That way she will always end up in the hands of someone deserving.”

  “I like that,” Sigurd agreed. “The idea that something we created will go on forever, enriching the lives of good men.”

  “And women,” she added.

  “And women,” he agreed, then paused. “I have finally thought of a name for her,” he said quietly. “What do you think of The Treasure Huntress?”

  Leila smiled and nodded. “It is a good name. May she provide her captain with all the physical riches he desires until she is able to seek out the true desire of his heart.”

  She was weakening. For the past weeks Sigurd had known and had focused on finishing the ship’s bow. She had fought so hard against the coming of the end, as she had fought by his side when they were younger. She was the strongest person he had ever known, but she would not live to see the ship complete—would not take a short cruise around the fjord as he had envisioned. He knew that now. Thankfully, she would at least see the dragon finished.

  “I’m very tired today,” she murmured after he woke her to tell her it was done.

  “We’ll go home early,” he said as he wrapped her in her favorite fox fur blanket before picking her up. “For a while you were getting better. You seemed stronger. You will again. You just need to eat more,” he said as he carried her down the hill for her inspection.

  “I felt it, too, but it was not to last. I think it was like the last glorious blaze the suns sends forth every evening before it gives in to the night.”

  “Don’t say such things,” Sigurd admonished her.

  Leila turned to look at the ship as they approached. “It is perfect.” She smiled wanly as her finger traced over the gilded carving of the couple. “Absolutely perfect, Sigurd. I’m so proud of you.”

  Sigurd lifted her higher for her to view all the symbols, from the golden dragon’s head down to the last of the gold-dusted scales. It was not difficult. She weighed nothing anymore; her body had been ravaged from its long fight.

  “I am so happy. I just want you to know, you have made me happy my entire life—and now with this.... It is perfect.” She wiped a tear from his cheek. “Please don’t cry. Do not be saddened when I go. It will be soon now.”

  “Don’t say that.” Sigurd shook his head.

  “Shush. I must and you know it. Promise me you will not be sad when I am gone—that you will think of our time together with happiness.”

  “I cannot make that promise.”

  She smiled again. “Then promise me you will try.”

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  She glanced back at the ship. “Finish her when I am gone. Finish her with all the care you have put into her so far. It will help you through the hardest times. And know that you will not be alone. I will still be here watching and helping you.”

  “We should get back to the cabin. It’s already getting cold.” He changed the subject, heartsick at the path it had taken.

  She nodded, and he began the trek home.

  “Would you like some fish roe?” he asked after he’d gotten her settled into the bed. “I see Jarl caught a fat one in the fish trap today, and there is still some of the fresh butter he brought before.” It was one of her favorites—one of the few things she had eaten lately. “I could fry it for you.”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  He brought her the plate. “Here you go. This will make you feel better. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “Gratitude, Sigurd. Just set it there. I’ll rest a bit and then I’ll eat it.” Her voice trailed away.

  Something in her tone disturbed him—something more than her normal physical weariness. Sigurd pulled his chair closer to the bed and took her hand. She did not awaken. Tears flowed silently down his cheeks as he sat watching her breathe—slow peaceful breaths.

  As she drew one longer staggered breath and exhaled, he knew it was her last. The skin and muscles of her face relaxed and her hand went limp in his grasp. Her body was finally free from the fight it had kept up for so long. Sigurd wiped the tears from his face as he stared at the form of the woman he had loved his entire life. He would do his best to honor her wishes. He owed her that and so much more. To fight through his grief to do so would be only a fraction of the fight she had put up to stay with him.

  Jarl saw the huge cloud of dark smoke and started to run; that was no cooking fire. Gasping for air, he burst into the small clearing surrounding Sigurd and Leila’s cabin. Everything appeared normal. He glanced toward the work-site. No smoke was coming from that direction; the source was somewhere near the fjord. Relieved, he paused briefly to catch his breath, then walked to the cabin and knocked on the door—softly at first, then harder. When there was no response, he opened it and peered inside. The cabin was empty, and while that was not unusual during the day, something was off. Jarl scanned the small space again. The copper pot that always hung over the fire was missing, as was the honey crock he’d brought for Leila when he had discovered her sweet tooth.

  Jarl stepped ba
ck outside and followed the now-diminished smoke spire to the fjord. There he found Sigurd sitting on a rock staring out over the calm open water. Traces of smoke lingered over its smooth-as-silk surface. Jarl knew only one thing burned on open water. A burial ship. He sat down next to Sigurd without speaking.

  “She loved the water on days like this,” Sigurd said. “The gods honor her with it today. She had a special connection to the gods—always did. Whatever her desire—other than her health. She thought I hadn’t been building any ships since she took ill, but when I realized she would die, I built one for her. I never told her. I didn’t want her to think I was ready for her to leave me. I didn’t want her to give up.” He glanced at the rabbits Jarl had on a tether, then at the pouch that he knew would contain some type of fresh stew. “There will be no need for you to continue to bring food.”

  “A deal is a deal,” Jarl disagreed.

  “I will finish your ship, have no fear.”

  “I do not fear that. I know Leila would haunt you if you did not.”

  Sigurd looked at him at that and smiled a tired smile. “Aye, that she would.”

  Jarl nodded. “As she would me if I left you to your own devices to feed yourself.”

  Sigurd only nodded his acceptance and looked back out over the water.

  “I have need of your assistance tomorrow,” Sigurd said, his voice surprising Jarl as he arrived at the cabin. Never once during the long winter had he ever found Sigurd at home during the day. “She is ready to launch. I had thought to try to do it myself, but today I could hear Leila’s words as clearly as if she’d been standing next to me. ‘Don’t be such a stubborn oaf,’ she said, and I suppose she’s right. Be here at dawn.”

  “I will,” Jarl said, barely able to control his excitement.

  Sigurd nodded and walked inside the cabin, closing the door behind him.

  “I have never seen anything like this,” Jarl murmured as he turned to Sigurd in wonder. “The bear, the bull.” He turned back to the ship and his fingers traced over the symbols.

  Sigurd watched him closely as Jarl continued to examine the scales. He was close to the lovers now. They were right in front of him, over the heart of the dragon as Leila had wanted, but Jarl continued past them, noting the details of all the others—the eagle, the fox, the horse. It was as if the lovers were invisible to him.