The Memory Painter

Several men snickered. Bjarni jerked his hand away, refusing to be baited. “Olvir, man the tiller,” he ordered, and headed toward the bow. He took out his sunstone again and this time he located the sun behind the clouds. Testing the wind and seeing that they had gone too far west, he directed Olvir to steer a new course.

As he watched the new land retreat into the distance, doubt tugged at him. Was he doing the right thing? In any other circumstance he would have stopped. How he wanted to stop—but he couldn’t. He tried to assure himself that perhaps one day he would return with Garnissa beside him.

As if the three fates were tempting his steadfastness, the next morning Bjarni sighted more land with the same forested terrain. Once again Tarr tried to sway him. “The fates are smiling on us, Bjarni, don’t be a fool. These are undiscovered lands. We would be the first to settle upon them.”

Everyone gathered around, their excited eyes turned to shore as they listened to Tarr carry on. Again Bjarni resisted the urge, reminding himself that if he stopped now, they would never reach Greenland—he would never see Garnissa. The fates were not smiling upon them. This was a test. Who knew what this new frontier held or if they would have enough provisions to last the winter. Everything in his bones told him to reach Greenland before it became frozen in ice.

“We continue on,” Bjarni said, as he stared Tarr down.

Tarr went for his dagger, but Bjarni grabbed him first. The men jerked and twisted, each trying to pin the other to the deck. Tarr pulled one of his arms free and punched Bjarni full in the face. Bjarni staggered backward and hit the side of the boat, holding on to it.