The ferry trip would be relatively quick. Bard had calculated by the position of the sun and the swift current that he would be home before the snow clouds overtook him to the east. They loomed black with the threat of frost. His knuckles cracked, lines of red where blood dried down the back of his hands.
"We'll make the river by nightfall to be sure," Gromok, the dwarf merchant paying passage, advised optimistically. He ran a gnarled glove over his beard and peered back at the bargeman's worn hands. "Would you like to wear my extra pair of gloves? They are not new, but will give you some comfort."
Bard gave the dwarf a quick smile, his dark eyes tight on the looming shadows of the ancient monoliths rising from the calm water. "I prefer to work barehanded. Especially on days like today, when the current is unpredictable. I can sense a change in the water through the rudder with bare flesh better. But my thanks."
"How long have you worked these waters?"
"Since I was a boy."
The merchant from the Grey Mountains gave a sage nod where he sat on the squat box by the railing. "I suppose this was your father's barge before you?"
Bard sniffed the wind coming from the far side of the lake. "His was much older. Business was better in my youth, before my children were born. I bought this boat as a young man, just starting out in life. I was twenty years then. And it's been twenty years since that time."
"Is business bad these days?"
He gave the rudder a sharp turn. The dwarf gripped the railing. A massive boulder scraped by them. "Times are hard for everyone in Lake-town these days."
"Ah yes," Gromok gave a nervous laugh. "The Master of the town."
With a grim nod, Bard pointed forward as the mist gave way to clear river air. "We are almost to your first trade house. Your destination."
Gromok had paid twenty five coins to be ferried from Lake-town to the first trade post outside the Mirkwood. It was owned by a family that Bard had known for years. The Smithy family were known for their generosity as well as their keen business sense.
Bard cut the barge towards the embankment. The sun broke free of the eastern horizon and gilded the rippling waters.
"Well, what have we here!?"
A hoot rose up from a dock jutting out from the eastern edge of the lake. Emund Smithy, a man the same age as Bard, strode to the end of the ramshackle pier and caught the line that Gromok tossed him.
"Good day to you, Sir Dwarf. And you, Bard. Fancy seeing you here again this season. Haven't you better things to do than wander the wilds like a vagabond?"
Gromok leaped onto the dock without help. Bard let Emund haul him up onto the dock. "Better the life of a vagabond than a prince."
"Don't let your son hear you say that. He'll start to get notions."
"He knows it without me saying it. And he would agree, though he wouldn't dare strike out on his own. He's a good boy, my Bain," Bard remarked, trying to temper the ache in his heart to be home with his children. "Ah, but he is healthy and happy. So are the girls. That is all that matters."
"And you. You're only old, like me. But..." Edmund patted his rotund center. "Do you have the belly to prove it? Does your Sigrid cook like my daughter?"
"Sigrid takes good care of her father. It will be a sad day when she is married and moves away."
"And you! My good dwarf," Emund turned towards the merchant. "You must be hungry! Come and please enjoy the hospitality of my table."
Emund led them towards the small village that grew up around the trade post. Whenever he passed through the area, Bard paid a call to Emund and his family. His home was much like Bard's. Emund's wife had died giving birth to his youngest, leaving three children, two girls and a boy. Emund's eldest daughter, flame haired Hilde, had fancied Bard since she had come into womanhood.
But Bard was twenty years older than Hilde and much too set in his ways to consider marriage. Truth be told, he knew that part of his heart had died with Astrid. He was concerned there wouldn't be much left to give a second wife.
The Smithy family's rustic trade post was deceiving. Living outside the tyrannical Master's boundaries, Emund had prospered. Emund was Bard's main contact on Long Lake who orchestrated shipments of goods coming to and from the outside world.
"We did not expect guests!" Hilde exclaimed, smoothing down her wild, red curls. Her face was more friendly than lovely, but her smile was breathtaking. "Father! Why didn't you say anything?"
Emund sank into one of the creaking chairs at the table with a chortle deep in his barreled chest. "Because the expression of horror on your face would be too good to miss, daughter."
Bard shrugged his coat from his broad shoulders as Hilde rushed to prepare food. "Please, Hilde. You mustn't trouble yourself."
"Don't try to dissuade her. There's no use," Emund grumbled under his breath.
"Bard!" Edmund's son Hamund bounded into the house, long legged as a young stallion. He tossed his fishing gear at the door with a clatter, tracking mud as he raced over to him. "We didn't expect to see you until spring!"
"Hamund!" Hilde shouted as she brought slices of wheat bread to the table. She smacked her little brother on the ear with her cooking spoon. "Look what you've done to my floor!"
"Ow! I'm sorry!"
"Get out! Get out and take those boots off at the door. This isn't a barn!"
After witnessing the scene, Gromok slowly removed his muddy boots. Winking at Bard, he hid them behind his seat. Bard hid a smirk from the irate Hilde.
Meanwhile, Emund drank deeply from a tankard of ale in front of him. "I find it's best to stay out of my daughter's way when she's in such a mood."
Hilde served up a meal of fish stew and oat cakes. Barefooted, Hamund sheepishly returned to the kitchen. Hamund spent the majority of the discussion hinting that since he was almost eighteen years old, he was ready to join Bard and his other traders on their routes. Emund spent the other part of their conversation brushing the idea aside.
Bard recalled having the very same conversation time and again with his own son. What Bain and Hamund did not realize was that once they gave their lives with the waters of Long Lake and Running River, they would never again be able to part from it. The people of the Lake were imprisoned by the waters that gave them life.
Hilde was tongue tied for most of the meal. Bard tried not to pay too much attention to her, other than in a fatherly manner. He did not wish to give her unmerited hope.
"Where is Jora?" Bard asked after Emund's missing child.
Hilde scoffed. "Shirking housework. Off dreaming somewhere."
"Jora is easily distracted," Emund added. "I saw her collecting reeds at the water side earlier. I believe she means to weave another basket."
"Start weaving a basket and then forget to finish it, you mean," Hilde groused, collecting the empty plates with a shy glance at Bard. "I only wish she'd plant her feet for more than five minutes."
"My children would probably say the same of me," Bard added wryly. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if I am getting too old to be trading up and down the river."
"Too old!?" Emund exclaimed. "You are young yet. Only forty years."
"I've considered selling the barge. Settling down with a more staid livelihood in town to be nearer home."
"Perhaps take another bride?" Emund winked at Bard.
Bard flushed and didn't look towards Hilde, but sensed the girl's full attention on him as she cleared the table of the dishes. "I don't know about that."
"Did you hear him, Hilde?" Hamund asked, his eyes flashing at his older sister. "Bard didn't say no."
Hilde gripped her spoon, her lips tightening to a frown, as Hamund ducked another blow from her weapon. Bard wiped his mouth and rose from his chair.
"Again, you have been more than generous with the wealth of your table. But I must get going. The current is shifting and I need to load the barge before I leave. Thank you, Emund." He gripped his friend's hand and nodded towards all those in the room.
Emund knew better than to protest Bard's abrupt leaving. The lake was temperamental. The currents and ice floes that time of year were freakish. It was better to leave while the path was cleared. Again, the invisible shackles of the water tugged at the hands and feet of it's people. And again, Bard wondered if it was better for him to find permanent work at home. He might not make as much money, but at least the odds of his drowned body washing ashore were less.
Jora came ambling up the bank as he finished loading the barge. The youngest of Emund's children carried a homespun pack on her back filled with reeds for a basket, but she held a slim volume of a book in her hands. Bard gave her warm smile, feeling a shard of homesickness at the sight. Jora was so much like Tilda.
"Hello Bard! Have you seen my family already!"
"Yes, we already ate. I fear your sister was upset that you weren't there to lend a hand."
She gave him a knowing look. "I believe having you there was a enough of a distraction for her, she won't be angry by the time I get home."
Bard bit his tongue. "You better hurry home. I'll give Tilda your greetings." He rubbed a hand over her messy, auburn braids.
"Bard," Jora spoke, her voice wavering.
Bard paused, his father's keen ear to a child's distress catching his attention. "What is it, Jora?"
"I'm not sure. I cannot- I can't be sure. But I thought I saw something downriver. Floating in the river."
"What was it?"
"It was among the reeds and driftwood coming out of the forest... but it looked... it was almost like a person."
Scattered pieces of his nightmare came back to him. Bard gave a deep sigh, his gaze peering down stream. "Don't worry, Jora. It might have been nothing. Water can reflect light and make things look strange. But I will keep my eyes open. I promise. Now get home before dark."
Jora scuttled up the bank. As he pushed the barge out into the current, Bard couldn't shake the shadow on his heart.
Colorless eyes, as blank as the winter sky.
Bard focused on thoughts of home as he traversed the icy waters of Long Lake.