Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

with Sigurd. If I could sketch them during the day when they are fresh in my mind, I could show him at night.”

“I’ll bring them tomorrow,” Jarl agreed.

Leila loved seeing the spark back in Sigurd’s eyes. There was a spring in his step as he moved about the cabin—pouring them each a cup of water while he waited for the latest stew Jarl had brought to warm over the fire. True to his word, after the logs were hauled, he had refused any further help from Jarl and had banished him from the work site—though Jarl more than continued to live up to his end of the bargain. Not only was their shed already filled to the eaves with split firewood and their larder full of a variety of fresh and smoked meats, he always brought something extra, some specially prepared food—a loaf of fresh baked bread, a pie, a pouch of soup or stew. She had pointed Jarl’s extra efforts out to Sigurd in hopes that he would ease his restriction and accept Jarl’s help, but he had not.

After they finished eating and he had cleared away their dishes, Sigurd showed her his crude sketch of a dragon’s head and neck. The skeleton frame of the ship was complete, and he was preparing to start on the bow. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s nice, but...”

“But what?”

“You have made similar before.”

“Yes,” he said, as he glanced back at his scribble, his brow furrowed as he tried to identify what she didn’t like about it.

“This one needs to be different,” she challenged. “Special.”

“I could use another animal, I suppose, but which would be better than a dragon?”

“Why not all of them?”

He looked at her blankly, and Leila was sure he must be thinking she had lost her mind.

“I have given this a lot of thought, so hear me out before you speak,” she continued. “Why not use the dragon’s head, but give it scales on its neck, each the size of a man’s hand. On each scale you can carve the symbol of another animal. Then the ship can possess and draw from the power of all, rather than just one.”

“That would take meticulous carving,” he said frowning, but she could tell he was excited by the idea.

“It would, and you can do it.”

“Bear, bull, horse.” He started to list under his breath.

“Fish, gull, ram,” she added. “I can sketch them for you. Not the whole beast, only a symbol of their greatest strength—their essence, if you will. Like this.” She picked up the coal and began to sketch an eagle’s head and beak, curved to fit into in the shape of a dragon’s scale, then a porcupine’s spiny back, a panther’s paw print. She looked up at him. He nodded.

“And the dragon’s head? I suppose you have an idea for that as well?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded before pulling a completed sketch from the middle of the stack of blank parchments.

Sigurd whistled between his teeth.

Her eyes searched his face. “What are your honest thoughts?” she asked.

“Honestly? I think you overestimate my skill as a carver.”

“I do not.”

“It is stunning and beautiful, but...well, the detail is too fine. It would not hold up to what a ship must—storms, battles.”

“I thought of that, too. What if it was made from ironwood?”

“Ironwood?”

“Only the head.”

“That’s impossible. It would be hard enough to carve this detail from a soft wood, but ironwood? Impossible,” he repeated.

“Not impossible,” she disagreed. “Difficult, yes, but not impossible. And if it could be done, would it hold up?”

“Aye,” he said, nodding and frowning at the same time. “If it could be done, it would probably outlast the rest of the ship.”

She smiled and nodded. “Good.”

“I didn’t say I would do it,” he protested. “There are other concerns.”

“Like?”

“Like...like the color of the wood would not match, for one.” He stammered, struggling to come up with something. He noticed her smug expression. “But I see you have thought of that as well.”

“I had thought to save that for another day; I knew you would be concerned about the carving and thought it might be best not to overwhelm you.”

“Spill it, woman. What else do you have planned for my ship?”

“Our ship,” Leila corrected him before continuing. “You and I have accumulated much gold over the years, have we not?”

“Aye. Our raiding was always successful.”

“We have no children left to leave it to, and have more than we can spend. Certainly more than I will ever spend, and even if your next wife enjoys silks and jewels, there should be plenty to accommodate her.”

“Do not say such things. Even in jest. You know there will never be another woman for me. So yes, we have plenty of gold.”

“Could some of it be melted down and somehow...wiped or dipped on the head and scales? I’m envisioning it thicker on the head—to make it appear as if it were made from solid gold, then becoming less and less down the neck in the scales, until it melds into the natural golden color of the wood at the bottom in the body of the ship.”

“You would dip the wood in gold?”

“I don’t know how it would be done—dip, pour...burnish it somehow.” She was shocked when he did not reject the idea immediately.

“I shall have to give that consideration. I don’t know if it can be done. Perhaps I could consult the blacksmith. He might know a way.”

Leila smiled again, suddenly very tired. “Good.”

Sigurd carried her to the work area every morning. Once he was satisfied that she was snug and warm in her mound of furs and had water and food within her easy reach, he went to work in the vale below. Sometimes she napped. Sometimes she sketched. Sometimes she sat just watching him.

Leila loved seeing him like this. Happy. Productive. Creative. He was in his element. She would not let her failing body take that from him—would not have him reduced back to the sad man who was