Phys.org: How octopuses, squid, and cuttlefish defy genetics’ ‘central dogma’ http://google.com/newsstand/s/CBIwjO2t5jQ
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1.18 – Eternal Storm
Mid-morning the day after Einarr and Tyr reunited with Erik, no kalalintu had yet shown themselves on the island. This, they agreed, probably related to the albatross heads Erik had staked around his camp, which in the darkness neither Einarr nor Tyr had noticed.
Erik, it seemed, had fought just as hard as Einarr and Tyr, but been fortunate enough to be grabbed by beasts from one of the smaller, less-populated islands. Some few escaped, but whether they would find welcome among one of the other groups none of the three could guess. Once the sun was down, Erik had lit his signal fire with hope, rather than expectation, of rescue.
Since they had already landed, and proven the island relatively safe, the three agreed to take the day for fishing and tending to their little boat. They would have no more opportunities before Svartlauf, and Runa had warned of an eternal storm and treacherous, rocky shoals. When they finally cast off the morning after, it was well-rested with replenished stores.
For another week they were blessed with smooth sailing, save for the occasional drizzle. Then the drizzles became full rainstorms, and before long their little boat was sailing through a squall even more ferocious than the one which had injured the Vidofnir last fall.
“Furl sail!” Einarr ordered as the prow of their ship nosed into the tempest. He bent the full strength of his arms to keeping their Gufuskalam on course while Erik tried to tie the billowing sail out of the wind and Tyr readied the oars.
Each and every one of them had pulled their knit caps as far down over their ears as they would go. Sleet pounded on the bow, freezing fingers and noses and ears where they still stuck out under their hats. Einarr gripped the tiller, knuckles white with more than cold. The storm obscured his vision, but not enough to entirely hide the rocks they rowed towards.
“Steady!” Einarr called over the storm. Erik and Tyr fought the ocean with oars that kept trying to jump out of their grasp. Water streamed down their faces and soaked their beards and their cloaks, and their hands were red from the cold.
Tyr started chanting a rower’s cadence, although the lack of a drummer left it feeling hollow.
Einarr’s nose felt like ice. He watched the ocean ahead of them for rocks, doing battle against the water with rudder rather than oar in their fragile skiff.
A strange current caught the Gufuskalam and pulled them sideways as the water swirled around the rocks. Einarr leaned into the rudder, trying to correct before they were dashed against the jagged pillar now looming ahead of them. “Starboard!”
At the last moment the Gufuskalam turned, just barely scraping by the rock. Einarr spared a glance for his crewmates. They slumped, frozen by the storm and wearied by hard sailing, but still struggling to make it through to their goal in the eye of the storm.
“Come on, men! No surrendering to a storm!” It was hard to tell if his friends heard over the howl of the wind and the lashing of sleet, but at least they were still moving. His own hands felt like ice as they gripped the tiller. Much more of this and frostbite might be the least of the damage.
“Nearly there,” he called a little later, still trying to encourage his friends. The hull thumped against a rock he had not seen beneath the water. It seemed his own vigilance flagged. At least there had been no crack of breaking wood with the impact. Einarr shook his head and shifted his footing, aiming to keep his balance.
A chiming noise sounded over the wind from the sack at his belt. At first it meant nothing. He blinked twice: another large rock loomed, dead ahead.
“Hard to port!” He hauled on the tiller.
Erik saw the rock just in time to flatten his oar against the side of the Gufuskalam.
Einarr heard the crystal chime again. What can that even be? He knew they’d have been lucky to hear the song of a battle chanter over the howl of this storm.
A battle chanter? …The crystal bottle! A little extra strength will go a long way toward getting us through to the island. Runa’s song of strength. How she had bottled it, Einarr could not guess, but the reminder of its existence fanned the flame of hope in his breast.
He fumbled with the ties on the sack with numb fingers until it opened. Even within the bag and in the stormy darkness the bottle seemed to glimmer from its place on top. Einarr lifted the bottle by its neck even as reverent gratitude filled him.
The stopper, too, was crystal, and Einarr pulled it carefully free. Even before the stopper was clear of the bottle the clear tones of Runa’s voice sounded over the howl of wind and sleet. Within moments his friends both had a firmer grip on the oars, and his own mind and body felt alert again. Undaunted, they battled the storm while the princess’s voice sustained them.
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1.17 – A Daring Rescue
The Gufuskalam glided backwards along a path pointed by the anchor line, but the two men aboard paid it little heed. Of much more pressing concern were the kalalintu that swooped at them from above, attacking them directly, or rocked their sides from beneath the waves. As for the men themselves, they fought off their attackers with all the strength they could muster. Not infrequently, the flying kalalintu were knocked, dazed and bleeding or already dead, into the water.
The kalalintu who had hold of the sea anchor eventually crawled up onto the shore on its belly. The Gufuskalam was beached, and all around them on the rocky shore Einarr saw nests of the strange creatures’ hideous offspring. Some of them were being fed from the beaks of the adults. Einarr and Tyr fought even harder then: the steady ground under their feet and room to maneuver joined with the worry over just what the hatchlings were being fed to redouble their efforts.
For hours they fought like this, desperation serving in place of song-magic to keep their flagging bodies from failing or the enchantment from taking hold. Finally, when the sky was beginning to redden with the onset of evening, the surviving kalalintu fell back to their nests, crouching protectively over their young even as they glared at the two men standing back to back, panting, on the beach.
Einarr had not felt this level of ache in a very long time. His legs ached from holding his ground. His arms had no strength left in them, for even Sinmora’s familiar weight wore after a time, and he was all over cut and bruised from where the kalalintu’s assault had slipped past his guard.
He glanced at Tyr as they limped back to the relative safety of the Gufuskalam while the orange of sunset faded into the inky purple of night. The older man didn’t seem to be in any better shape, but he did have the presence of mind to claim their sea anchor out of the sand where it had been left.
Once Tyr was aboard, Einarr bent his shoulder and gathered what strength he had left to push the Gufuskalam off the rocky shore. When she floated freely, Tyr offered him a steadying hand up into the boat and they were once again free of imminent attack.
“Now. Did you happen to catch which island they dragged us to?”
Tyr shook his head slowly.
“Well, hel. That makes both of us.” Einarr flopped down in the tiller seat, tilting his head back to stare at the stars.
“These islands aren’t big enough to figure it out that way,” Tyr said, sitting as well.
“No, probably not. And now is probably not an ideal time to sleep, either, but unless you can see a fire on a beach I don’t have any better ideas.”
“And a fire on a beach would be a terrible idea in his situation.”
“…Unless he had already cleared off the cursed beasts on his island! They’re clumsy on land.” Einarr sat up now and scanned the horizon. Black shapes marked where the other islands lurked. “Do we dare row to the center?” A fire on the beach or the smoke from one, either would be visible tonight.
“Worth a shot. Better than sticking around out here another day.”
***
Navigating the archipelago’s interior was treacherous even at night, while the kalalintu slept. The rocky bottom changed depths drastically from one moment to the next, and the submerged rocks were often not visible under the moonlight before one was right on top of them. Einarr and Tyr poled as much as they rowed, praying to gods of sea and light with every push that this would not end with the Gufuskalam skewered on a rock.
Einarr breathed a sigh of relief as, somehow, they neared the middle of the island chain without more than scraping their hull as though on a beach. He stood, then, and stepped to the center of the boat, back to back with Tyr to scan the horizon. From east to west he searched, and then back west to east, but there was no sign of his friend that he could see.
Tyr elbowed him in the ribs. When he turned, the older man pointed off to the west-northwest. There, not far from the island they had escaped, a plume of dark grey smoke dimmed the stars behind it. A deep belly laugh bubbled up from Einarr, sounding eerily like his father’s despite his smaller size.
“Well spotted, Tyr. You’ve got sailing years left in you yet.”
“I certainly hope so,” he responded flatly.
Einarr laughed again, clapping the old sailor on the shoulder. “Never any doubt, man. Never any doubt. Now let’s go. If it’s safe enough for Erik to light a fire, it’s safe enough for us to sleep for the night.”
“Assuming we get there before dawn.”
“We can make it. Let’s get to it.”
***
The plume of smoke led them to a small island a quarter-circle from the one the late, enterprising kalalintu had towed them to. The moon was setting by the time they beached the Gufuskalam, but now they were ashore Einarr’s spirit was buoyant. He could smell the smoke from shore, and it carried with it the odor of roasting fish.
Einarr grinned sidelong at his companion. “Rested enough to make it a race?”
“Hah! Maybe thirty years ago. I’ve got a better idea, though.” The twinkle in Tyr’s eye was evident even under the starlight. He leaned over to whisper in Einarr’s ear, and the man’s grin was answer enough.
They came upon the campfire quietly, dashing from scrubby bush to scrubby bush. Erik had built the blaze up ridiculously. There were a few trees on the island, and Einarr guessed that there had been a few more earlier that day. Fish were staked outside the blaze itself, roasting in the radiant heat, and Erik moved around the fire tending both dinner and flame.
Einarr shifted, poised to step out and yodel at the man. Erik froze, but didn’t turn away from the fire. Well, he knows we’re here. Einarr smirked. Rather than bursting forth at full voice, he stepped out normally and kept his voice restrained. Shrugging, Tyr followed suit.
Erik turned around, fists planted against his sides as he looked at his two companions. Thanks to the fire, Einarr couldn’t see his face.
“Well. I thought you two might still be around. Mighty nice of you not to make me swim home.”
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Old-fashioned Fried Pork Chops
It’s taken a lot of trial and error, and more than a few near-misses, but I think I finally have a primal flour for breading pork chops (or chicken pieces, or maybe even fish…) that (a) has good crunch and (b) doesn’t have an “off” flavor.
So. Here goes. All flour measurements are ballpark. Tonight I started with 1/4 cup of each and had to mix more, and then had some leftover.
Old-Fashioned Fried Pork Chops
Ingredients
- 4 pork chops
- 3/8 c toasted sesame seeds
- 3/8 c white sesame seeds
- 3/8 c arrowroot starch tapioca or potato starch would probably also work, but I haven’t tested them
- salt to taste
- black pepper to taste
- garlic powder to taste
- onion powder to taste
- Italian seasoning or other herbs, to taste
- 1-2 eggs thinned with milk or water
- Oil for frying
Instructions
- Grind your sesame seeds to flour in a spice grinder.3/8 c toasted sesame seeds, 3/8 c white sesame seeds
- Mix with arrowroot starch on a plate, then season to taste. My suggestions are above, but that’s just how we like them.3/8 c arrowroot starch
- Heat your oil in a large skillet. I have a newfound love for ceramic nonstick, because nothing sticks to it. It’s fantastic, and it has joined my cast iron in the rarefied strata of “pans I will wash by hand.”Oil
- While your oil is heating, bread your pork chops. Take each chop individually and coat it in your flour mix. Shake off the excess, then dunk it in the egg wash and give it another coating of flour. I found 2 eggs was too much for just 4 pork chops, but I’ve often found 1 egg insufficient. YMMV.4 pork chops, 1-2 eggs
- Once your oil is hot, put your chops in the pan and cook until the meat is done and the breading is brown. I used cold-pressed Sunflower Seed oil tonight, but you could use basically whatever fat you wanted.
- Serve immediately with a side salad and/or homemade applesauce.
Notes
Update (11/4/2024): In the years since this was first posted, I have discovered a wonderful product sold under the name “pork panko” in our grocery store. It is literally powdered pork rinds, sold in the bread crumb aisle. Either plain (if you can find them) or Italian Seasoned work just fine here. Also, I now have an oven with an air fryer function. To cook pork chops in the air fryer, heat it to 380. Place them on a wire rack, and air fry for 6-8 minutes a side. You may need as long as 10 minutes a side if they’re particularly big chops.If you try it, I’d love to know what you think!
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1.16 – Kalalintu Island
Einarr tore the wax from his right ear with a curse. “We can’t leave him there.”
“You want to take on an entire island full of those things?” Tyr yelled, his ears still stopped.
Einarr rolled his eyes and gestured to his ear. Yes, it was a risk, but they had to plan this carefully – and he wasn’t about to do that like he was talking over a storm.
Tyr complied. “Odds are he’ll be dead before we even set foot on their little rock.”
“Erik? Not likely. You really think he can’t hold off those things on land?” They had no legs – only wings and a long, snakelike tail. A snake was quick, but a snake wasn’t pushing around the body of an albatross, either.
“Erik’s a good sailor, and a fine warrior. Certainly I’d rather have him with us than not. But is it worth the risk?”
“Yes. It’s going to take all three of us to get to Svartlauf, I think, and good fortune besides. Besides, Father’ll have my hide if we don’t all three come back in one piece.” This last was said with a wink. Tyr was a salty old sailor, and no one survives to become an old sailor without learning a good dose of caution. Einarr pulled out their sea chart. “Now. We could follow them to their nest, or we could plan. I think we’ve got a better shot with a plan, don’t you?”
“You plan, I’ll row. We at least need to know what island they land on.”
***
The archipelago occupied by kalalintu – one flock or many, Tyr was unable to say – was a small ring of sandy islands with shores that were rocky where they were not cliffs. The awkwardly flying cluster that bore Erik in its talons alighted on one of the nearer shores, although it was little more than a speck to the men on the Gufuskalam when it did so. More than once Einarr worried that they were going to drag his friend along underwater, but if Erik got so much as damp it was through his boots.
Once the speck had settled on its island, Tyr rowed to put one of the smaller islands – little more than a rock poking up out of the water – between the Gufuskalam and their goal. Einarr tossed out the sea anchor. They would wait for nightfall here, and discuss their plan in hushed tones to avoid attracting the attention of more of the beasts.
Alas, it was not to be. No sooner had the pair decided on their angle of approach than a flying serpentine form descended on the Gufuskalam, it’s silvery tail glinting in the sun and threatening to give away their presence with every thrash. Einarr drew Sinmora. If he could kill it quickly enough, they might go unmolested for a while longer. If it brought in others of its flock, however… he tightened his grip on his sword and flexed his empty hand. His shield would be more hinderance than help here, although he never liked fighting without it.
The beast lashed out at Einarr with its tail. In the same moment Einarr struck out with his free hand and snatched the silvery whip out of the air. The kalalintu’s scales bit into his palm,drawing blood that would threaten his grip. It screeched and tried to pull away, but Einarr set his feet against the deck boards.
Tyr cursed as the boat rocked. Einarr was forced to give a step in order to keep his balance. A splash said the older man had missed his strike against one in the water.
The avian body of the kalalintu Einarr restrained was out of reach, and it cried loudly enough that he was surprised they weren’t buried in the creatures already. Einarr gave a heave on the tail, and as the creature yielded he took up slack on his arm like a writhing rope.
It changed tactics, turning to strike with its beak and fists against his skull.
That was when Einarr slashed, Sinmora’s blade slicing through a wing and deep into its feathered side. Its panicked squawk was cut short as it fell to the deck with a thud.
Einarr turned, now. Tyr’s axe was wet, and a cloud of red spread out from beneath the boat. Tveir, he thought grimly. “I think they’ve found us,” he said instead.
“Going to be an eventful afternoon,” Tyr agreed.
The boat jerked to life. Both men staggered. Einarr looked off the back of the boat: the anchor line was taut. “Now I think I know how the fish feels.”
“Har de har. Cut the line or don’t, we’ve got incoming.”
“They drag us to shore, at least we’ve got room for some footwork.” Einarr hefted his shield from where it lay, already staring at the sky where a cloud of the sinuous creatures flew their way, wishing they had time to shoot some of the kalalintu down before they reached the boat.
“Yep. Right up until they start singing.”
Einarr pursed his lips and slashed at the leader of the flock. “Like I’ll let something like this kill us. I have a girl to wed and a weaving to end, after all.”
Tyr grunted, cutting at two more kalalintu that ventured within reach. One of them fell, bleeding, into the sea. “Tveir for me!”
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1.15 – Assault on the Open Seas
For more than a week, the only real trouble that fell on the three men was the occasional spring rainstorm. Three days into the second week, the day dawned clear and still, and so Einarr and Erik drew out the oars and left the tiller to Tyr for the morning.
Early spring or not, by mid-morning Einarr’s brow was soaked with sweat and none of them had felt so much as a tickle of breeze. Off in the distance, Einarr thought he saw the dark, solid stripe that portended land. Tyr glanced down at the chart as something silver flashed beneath their hull. He jumped to his feet, his eyes wide.
“You said there were islands on our path?”
“Yes,” Einarr said in between breaths. He pressed the oar forward through the air.
“And today was around the time you thought we’d be reaching them?”
“Roughly. Why?”
The older sailor cursed. “We can’t land there. We’re already too close to the shore.”
Rather than lower the oar back into the water, Einarr and Erik both turned around to look at the old sailor, eyebrows raised in anticipation of an explanation.
“I’m just glad we can’t hear any singing yet. We’ve got candles, right? Stopper your ears.”
“What are you saying, Tyr?”
“I’m saying this area has been infested with kalalintu since I was a boy. Now are you going to get out the candles, or are we going to take our chances on the rocks?”
“Candles. Definitely the candles.” There was a clatter of wood as Einarr and Erik drew back the oars and pulled up some of the deck boards. Tyr kept a lookout over the water.
A splash sounded nearby, like a jumping trout or the flick of a sea snake’s tail. “Quickly now. We’ve been spotted.”
“Got them!” Eric stood upright, a fistful of candles clenched in his hand.
Einarr kicked a deck board back toward its place as he fumbled with the pouch at his belt for his flint.
“Once we’ve done that, we’ll want the hunting horns. … Aw, hel. Hurry!”
A snatch of music floated over the water toward them, beguiling, seductive, but not as sweet as Astrid’s voice had been – as Runa’s was. Einarr was dripping wax in Erik’s ear, who flinched at every hot drop but did not complain. Tyr grabbed one of the other candles from Erik and lit it from the one Einarr used. He cocked his head to the side and started to take care of his own ears.
Erik and Einarr switched places. As Einarr bent his head, he saw the bedraggled-looking head of an albatross surface from below the water.
Tyr was digging in their supplies now, and surfaced with their hunting horns. He tossed the strap of Erik’s over his shoulder, thrust Einarr’s against his chest, and raised his own to his lips.
The albatross’ wings raised up out of the water and it began to flap. The birds were big, but the body that began to rise from the water was still too large for an ordinary albatross. A pair of grotesquely muscled arms extended beneath the wings. The creature continued to flap, its wings still dipping beneath the water, and the white-feathered body became silver feathers. Then the feathers became scales, and it was the tail of a sea serpent that the wings now lifted forth from the water.
Tyr’s cheeks bulged out as he sounded his horn. The kalalintu opened its beak, and in place of the beguiling song emitted a very bird-like screech. Einarr could still hear it through the wax that Erik was just now finishing dripping in his ears, but at least that should be enough to prevent a bewitching. He raised his own horn to his lips and blew.
More of the creatures were approaching, now. They didn’t seem to like the noise of the horns, but even after Erik began to sound off it was not enough to drive off the man-eating kalalintu. Einarr kept blowing even as he drew Sinmora, and he saw Tyr strike with his axe at a kalalintu who braved the noise of their horns to stoop.
The creature dodged the blade of the axe and climbed back up into the sky. There were five of them now, circling their little boat like vultures. The creatures stooped, one at a time, testing each of their defenses. At the first sign of attack, they rolled away and climbed back up into the circle. All the while, a thin note of birdsong was audible through the wax in their ears around their own shouts.
This isn’t working…
And then it got worse. All five of them folded their wings together. One of them tried to wrap its tail around Tyr, beating him about the head with its massive wings. The second lashed at Einarr with its tail, having been stung by Sinmora before and trying not to get in the way of its flock mates. The other three all went after big, burly Erik, who struck out at them with his own axe. They did not flinch, though, even when his blade bit flesh.
The boat rocked. Einarr cut at the kalalintu that had been harassing him, but it was already breaking away. He glanced at Tyr – he, too, was no longer engaged with the grotesque beast. The sound of shouting continued to penetrate the wax in his ears. Einarr snapped his head around to the prow of the boat.
Erik was gone. In the sky, the two who had been harassing Einarr and Tyr flew to join the unsteady retreat of the other three. Dangling beneath them, and surely the cause of their erratic flight, was the muscular figure of Erik.
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Growing things
Yesterday, having just put out my first book, I granted myself one day mostly away from the computer. I did a little bit of administrative stuff on the book in the morning, I ran errands, and I got some time for some non-writing projects – and realized that it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted about any crafty stuff that wasn’t my writing! I promise, I’m still doing that. Maybe there will be a stash-busting post later, or one about learning to quilt.
DH and I are mostly-primal, which means we eat a lot of meat and veggies. I’m not a very good gardener, but this year I’m putting in a small plot in our back yard, between these windows:
This was taken last fall, before we laid down a little more grass seed, but the area is still kind of ugly to my mind. And, if I can grow herbs and tomatoes and cucumbers (and maybe, if I’m brave, zucchini), then that frees up space in the grocery budget for more exotic things that won’t grow here in central Indiana.
So, yesterday afternoon I took a little bitty $1 paintbrush and a pint of stain to the wood I bought more than a month ago to build a garden bed. I only stained the outside of the wood because I didn’t know if it would leach into the soil or not, but I didn’t want to stare at a gray garden bed come October, either. I think these are coming out rather nicely:
Next step is assembly. I’ll be sawing one of the ends of the stair risers so it will sit vertically and nailing the 4′ 2x4s between them on one end, at which point I find out how much more wood I need to make a bed that will also be a bit flatter than our (very steep) back yard.Once that was done, I got some seeds started. I don’t even remember when I saw this, but I found the idea on Pinterest to start seeds in eggshells, so I’ve been saving shells and cartons to try it. I ended up poking holes in the bottoms of the shells with a wooden skewer so the soil would drain, rather than just be soupy mud cups. If this works, I’ll post a picture then, but right now they’re just plastic egg cartons filled with eggshell cups and dirt.
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Moss and Fog// Beauty // Design // Smart Ideas.Daydream in These Digital Collages
I’m not usually a big fan of surrealism, but these are neat:
Amazing digital collages that will put you in a state of daydream.
Source: Moss and Fog// Beauty // Design // Smart Ideas.Daydream in These Digital Collages
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1.14 – Setting Sail
The morning after Einarr’s defeat of Trabbi, the Vidofnir set forth in search of the Grendel missing three of its crew – Einarr, of course, plus two of their hardiest warriors: Erik and Tyr. It was all Stigander could spare. The morning after that Einarr led his companions down to Runa’s cove and the waiting skiff, newly dubbed the Gufuskalam. Runa and the Jarl came to see them off, she looking worried and he relieved to see them go.
While Erik and Tyr made one last check of their provisions, Runa caught Einarr’s hand in her own. “Promise me you’ll come back?”
He did not try to repress a smile. “Of course I will. What sort of fool would abandon you?”
She nodded, slowly, and if he was not mistaken sadly, and pressed a small sack into his hands. “Take these. May they speed you on your journey.”
“Thank you. I’m sure they will.”
He did not look in the sack until the island vanished from view. On top was a note.
My dearest Einarr, it read. The island of Svartlauf is hidden behind an eternally raging storm and hunted by a fimbulvulf, two things which I know my father has not told you. There may be other dangers as well, so I have sent gifts that I hope will bring you victory. The small crystal bottle contains my song of strength. Open it when yours fails and remember me. The other is the tafl king, so that you might always keep your wits about you. Be careful, my love, and return in victory!
Einarr smiled and tucked the note carefully into the pouch at his belt. He wasn’t sure how much practical good either of those things would be, but the gesture still warmed him from the inside out. He stowed Runa’s offerings in the box beneath his seat at the tiller.
A breeze caught in his hair, and he offered a devilish grin to his two companions. “Time to sail, boys. Gods but it’s good to be off the rocks again.”
“How true it always is,” Erik agreed while Tyr continued to call their rowing cadence.
“Ease off a bit and I’ll let the sail down.”
Erik caught Tyr’s attention and they pulled the oars in as Einarr stepped forward to unfurl the sail. The still-cold wind filled their sail and caught his cloak, contrasting with the warmth on his shoulders of the spring sun. The Ice existed, Einarr thought, to make sure one appreciated the freedom to sail.
Tyr stood up and stretched. “So how much do you think the Jarl hasn’t told you?”
Einarr snorted. “What, you think the Captain’s childhood friend would withhold information from me?”
“Yes,” the two men said at once.
“You’d have to be blind to see he still doesn’t want to allow the match,” Eric continued.
“So anything he can do to make your quest harder…” Tyr trailed off.
“He’s going to try to do.” The right side of Einarr’s mouth curled in an unhappy smirk. “Runa tells me there’s a storm around the island and a fimbulvulf.”
Erik thrust his head forward in surprise. “A what? By the gods, is he trying to kill you?”
Einarr just shrugged.
“If the Captain knew that…”
“He’d have held off on pursuing the Grendel and we’d be on the Vidofnir right now. But I only found out a minute ago, myself.”
Tyr whistled.
“Not that it matters. I said I’d do it, and I am my father’s son. Besides, we’ve got a few weeks before we need to worry about it, and right now the weather is perfect. I say we see what our little Gufuskalam can do!”
His friends voiced their agreement with a cheer.
***
As the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of gold and red and purple that blinded the three men on their skiff, Erik stepped to the mast to furl the sail for the night while Einarr took the tiller. He would have first watch, and was glad that the sky was still clear. Overcast skies on their first night out of port would be an ill omen, because while the other two men slept, he would keep their drift on course.
Tyr was pulling out food from their stores for dinner – a cask of ale, some hard tack, and gravlax. There would be no cooking aboard the Gufuskalam, for there was no room in which to light a fire, but they would not go hungry at least.
“You ready for six weeks of this?” Tyr’s voice was a low rumble as he shared out the portions, evidently thinking along the same lines as Einarr.
“We’ll manage.” Erik bit down into the hard tack and followed it up with a swig of beer. “Always have before.”
Einarr nodded. “I think our course takes us close to some small islands partway through, too.”
Tyr grunted and broke off a piece of bread to pair with a bite of the sweet-salted salmon. “Two-edged sword, is what that is.”
Einarr shrugged. “We’ll get by. If anyone knows more tricks for getting through a long sea voyage than you, it’s Father.”
This got a laugh from the gruff man. “I taught him half what he knows, back when he was your age.”
Nobody ever bothered Tyr about retiring, because age had barely touched him. Save for snow-white hair and lines on his face, he still kept up with men half his age. Einarr and Erik both chuckled.
“That is exactly what I meant.”
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The Passive Voice on Contracts
From The Verge: Two years ago, author John Scalzi signed a $3.4 million deal with leading science fiction and fantasy publisher Tor Books to publish 13 novels over the course of the decade. The novel that kicks off this new contract, The Collapsing Empire, is just now hitting bookstores. For Scalzi, there’s a lot riding…
