After quickly adjusting the square-rigged sail and rudder, he unanchored the boat and sat down on a bench, taking hold of the oars and maneuvering the boat away from the shore. They were soon off, rowing toward the orange globe that hovered just above sea level. The men from the village might attempt to come after them on the sea once they discovered the child was missing, but he hoped the bloodied tunic would at the very least disorient and slow them. They would suspect the child was dead and hopefully waste time searching for his body in the woods; but if not, if they indeed thought him kidnapped, they hadn't seen the boat, and wouldn't know which direction Stian had set sail for. That is, so long as he could be out of sight by the time they reached the outcrop.
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The boy's expressive eyes, as dark as walnut, were as wide as when he'd first been captured, his skin chalky. But he made no attempt to speak or move, and sat solemnly beneath the sail. An hour of vigorous rowing later, when the shoreline was far out of sight and they were heading south, Stian let go of the oars and crept around the roped cargo to the center of the boat where the boy sat, about two meters or so away. He removed the scarf and untied his ankles. It no longer mattered if the child screamed—there was nowhere to escape.
"What's your name?" he growled in Old Norse.
The boy blinked but said nothing.
Stian tramped back to his seat and reached into a nearby crate, pulling out a chunk of whale jerky and a loaf of bread. It was the last of the loaves he'd stolen after his body had been changed. Taking the seax dagger from his boot, he halved the jerky and offered it along with a section of bread to the boy, who caught each piece in his hands, set them down beside him, and made no move to eat. With a harrumph, Stian made short order of his own meal; tearing at the jerky like a savage and chugging from a waterskin as well. Once done, he wiped his hairy chin with a handkerchief and was half startled to see blood all over the handkerchief as he stuffed it back into his pocket—he should be used to that by now. The boy watched him with what seemed both curiosity and alarm, likely trying to discern his features beneath the shrouding of his hood. There was no hiding his grotesque hands.
"What's your name?" Stian repeated in a low voice.
"It is Josva."
"Eat," he said, gesturing at the untouched food with an outstretched claw.
Josva's eyes widened again but he did not move.
Stian held the child's gaze for a long time, each surveying one another as water lapped the sides of the wooden boat and a breeze bathed their brows. He looked so tiny in the giant overtunic, not at all like a ten year old. His tawny hair hung straight to his chin.
"Can I see your face?" the child asked after a time, breaking the silence.
Stian hesitated, fingering the edge of his hood with a claw. He felt overheated keeping it on but didn't want to be gawked at. After all, it was only because of his face that he'd abducted the boy in the first place. He could no longer trade on the coasts; his boat filled with valuable quarry he had no hope of selling.
