Told what was intended, he listened, nodded, sat silent during the day, and disappeared again in the dark. When he returned a second time he brought discouraging word.
“Echegorgun won’t accompany you,” he said. “He says he has been seen too often already. He says I am to come with you instead.”
Shef raised an eyebrow. Cuthred spoke as if he had a better alternative—maybe to join the Hidden Folk for good, as a kind of exchange for the child Barn many years ago.
“He says he will keep an eye on you, or on us,” Cuthred went on. “And he will pass the word to his relatives not to interfere with us. That is a great threat removed. You know why most hunters from here have never come back. They ended up smoked like stock-fish. But that still leaves the bears and the wolves. And cold and hunger. And the Finns. We will have to take our chances with them.”
Shef had agreed, having no choice, and turned to his preparations. In the end Brand had paraded every single member of the party in front of him, and gone through their equipment minutely. All had stout and well-greased boots that reached up to the calf. Thick leggings and thick wool trousers over them, for women as well as men. Wool tunics, skin mantles, hemp shirts. “Sweat is a danger,” Brand told them. “Freezes on you. Hemp soaks up the sweat better than wool. Better not to sweat. Just do everything at an even pace, but never stop unless you have a fire. That is the way to keep warm, but not too warm.” He had made sure that everyone had a bag to sleep in. Not, alas, the magnificent model Shef had bought at the Gula, which had burnt with so much else. But a store of feathers had survived the fire, and everyone had a two-layer bag of some material, wool or skin, padded with the down of the seabirds. Mittens and hats, scrims to go round the neck and pull across the face in a blizzard. For each person, in a back-pack, ten day’s food, mostly dried fish and seal-meat, or the strong cheese made from sheep or goat’s milk. Not enough, but a person walking all day in the cold needs four pounds’ weight of food a day. Carry more, travel less. “If you see anything living, eat it,” Brand said. “Spin out what you carry as long as you can. You will be hungry before you reach the other side.”
The party’s weapons had been carefully selected as well, and not for war. The catapulteers carried their crossbows and their knives. Even Osmod had been made to abandon his halberd, too heavy and cumbersome. Thorvin had his smith’s hammer, Hund was empty-handed. The others carried either wood-axes or spears, stout-shafted ones with cross-pieces, not javelins or harpoons. “For bear,” Brand explained. “You don’t want one of them walking up the shaft at you.” Four short hunting bows were spread among the group as well, given to those who considered themselves good shots. Cuthred carried the sword they had taken from Vigdjarf, and his spiked shield. Shef had his lance as well as a broad sharp-pointed Rogaland knife taken from the Crane.
Finally, Brand had insisted on pressing upon them six pairs of the strange sticks the Norwegians slid on, the skis. “None of us can use them,” Shef protested.
“Thorvin can,” Brand replied.
“I learned too,” added Ceolwulf. “Learned the first winter.”
“You might need to send scouts out,” Brand urged. What he thought was that some might survive, even if all did not.
At dawn, some fourteen days after the battle and the burning, the party set out. They were carried over the first stretch in the first ship Brand’s folk had managed to make from salvaged parts: planks from both the wrecked ships, keel made from one half of the Crane’s originally riveted main timber. The ship was short, wide, and lacking in proportion, named by Brand in disgust the Duckling. Nevertheless she moved reasonably enough under sail, the party packed into her roomy waist with the six-man crew working round them. There had been some argument about where they should all be set down, Brand opting for a fjord which ran furthest into the tangled mass of mountains, and so cut down their marching distance as much as possible. But Cuthred vetoed the choice with total confidence. “Echegorgun said not,” he reported. “He said, go to the fjord that leads to the triple-horned mountain. Then head due east. That way we will strike a line that may lead us down to the great lake that runs across Kjolen, the Keel.”