Hidden by Donna Jo Napoli Page A

and I sail due east. It takes a long time to see land—or maybe it only seems so long because it’s getting dark fast and I’m squinting. The wind blows against me now, at first just a little, but it’s gaining strength. I turn south, even though I don’t yet know which direction the island is, because I have to turn one way or the other.
    There’s a beach I recognize because the strand is so deep—even in high tide, the sand goes back enormously far before grasses start—so now I know the beaver island is to the north. I spin the boat and head north. It isn’t far. Beorn stands at the island’s tip and waves, the fool—as though I’m not heading straight for him. I stop and anchor while he swims out and tosses into the boat first three dead beavers, then his ax.
    He climbs in, hand over hand on the rope, and wraps himself in a blanket. He swam to that island in the first place, so he’s been wet all afternoon—and the temperature has dropped precipitously. He shivers. His teeth chatter. He doesn’t speak a word.
    I spin the boat again and sail us home. All these weeks my mind has been filled with the challenge of learning to sail. And, yes, the joy of being in control, and the hopethat this will help me find Mel. I hardly thought of anything else. It was as though I was someone much stronger, someone who could do anything, right now, today. Someone who didn’t have a past that taught her better.
    But that ship reminded me.
    I could have been snatched. Again.
    And Mel is still somewhere else. Maybe somewhere awful.
    It’s my job to find her. I must!
    I’m yet only twelve; I can’t do it now. But I will. I will find Mel. She is my sister, and I love her. I will bring us back to Eire. Once I’m older, stronger, able. Once the sight of a ship with two sails doesn’t turn me into a quivering mass. I must find a way to prepare myself properly, so that I can succeed in rescuing her.
    As we finally turn up the Ribe River, Beorn moves close and says, “Don’t tell Ástríd.”
    Does that mean he saw the boat? Does he guess why I fled? It’s too dark to see the message in his eyes, if there is one there. “I won’t.”
    â€œYou scared me, Alfhild.” He rests his hand heavy on my shoulder. “You were out of sight—so I know you couldn’t see the land. You broke the rules.”
    I turn my head away. I had no choice. If he saw the boat, he knows that. What’s the point of an argument?
    â€œYou’re a fine sailor, though it will take years to make you sea wise. Remember that. Don’t get complacent. Ever. I don’t want to lose you.”
    I stifle a cry of pain. I love Beorn. Ástríd . . . Búri . . . Alof. And Mel, too. And Mother, Father, Nuada. I love them all. My head could burst with all this love.

C HAPTER E LEVEN
    We walk past the smithy to the great hall where the feast is going on.
    â€œLook up, Búri.” Ástríd stops, holding the boy by one hand and pointing to the sky with the other. “The god Frey is riding over the earth tonight on his magnificent boar. If you look hard, you might see him, like a streak of gold.”
    â€œBoar? The god is riding on a boar? Our boar won’t let me ride him.”
    â€œFrey’s boar isn’t ordinary. His shines so bright, he lights up even the darkest cave. And he has a name: Gullinbursti.”
    â€œOur boar has a name: Collach.”
    â€œWhat a strange name to give him.”
    â€œIt’s not strange. It’s what Alfhild calls him.”
    Ãstríd looks at me.
    I shrug. Collach means “boar” where I come from. I’ve given Gaelic names to all the animals—it’s one way of holding on to the words that would slither away from the edges of my mind. I keep my face blank.
    Ãstríd twists her lips. “Well, it makes sense then. After all, Frey is king of