Sæmundur the Wise and the Seal

Once there was a man named Sæmundur. He was called "the Wise," for he knew more than most men and had read books few dared open. Some said he had studied far to the south. Some said he had sat in a school where darkness itself taught men its secrets. And some said the Devil had had his eye on him since he was young.

Sæmundur was not a man easily frightened. But he knew that whoever makes a bargain with darkness must read the fine print better than others.

When Sæmundur had finished his studies abroad, he wished to return home to Iceland. But the Devil, who believed he had a claim on him, came to him one dark day and said: "You have learned enough from me. Now you come with me."

Sæmundur looked at him calmly. "I'll go home first," he said.

"Home?" said the Devil, laughing. "The sea is long and cold. No boat waits for you."

"Then you'll find me passage," said Sæmundur. "You're not without resource."

The Devil narrowed his eyes. He was used to men begging, weeping, or fleeing. He was not used to being addressed like a merchant at market.

"I shall carry you across the sea," he said at last. "But when we reach land, you shall be mine."

"If you catch me before I set foot on land," said Sæmundur.

The Devil considered. It seemed easy to him. Who could outrun him at sea?

"Agreed," he said.

Then the Devil turned himself into a great seal, black and shining, with eyes too knowing for a beast. Sæmundur sat on its back, kept his book dry beneath his cloak, and set out across the sea.

The sea was grey. Waves rose and fell like mountains wishing to swallow them. The seal went fast, faster than any ship before a fair wind, and foam flew beneath it. Sæmundur sat still, but in his mind he counted every moment.

The Devil spoke to him along the way. "You're quiet, Sæmundur."

"A man doesn't waste words against the wind," Sæmundur answered.

"Perhaps you think you can trick me."

"I think many things," said Sæmundur. "Not all of them true."

They traveled day and night, or what seemed day and night, for at sea the time ran differently. Sometimes Sæmundur saw lights beneath the waves, as if farms lay down in the sea. Sometimes he heard voices calling his name from the mist. He answered none of them.

At last land rose ahead. Iceland. Black shores, white surf, mountains with snow in their gullies.

The Devil felt victory drawing near and swam faster still. "Now, Sæmundur," he said. "When I bear you to land, you will not escape."

Sæmundur said nothing. He drew the book carefully from beneath his cloak. It was not a large book, but its pages were heavy with words. He had read in it much that would be better forgotten, and now he meant to use it once more on this journey.

The seal drew near the shore. The surf rose. The black sand was only moments away.

Just before the seal slid up onto the beach, Sæmundur struck it on the head with the book with all his strength and leapt from its back.

He flew through the foam and landed on the sand.

First one foot. Then the other. On land.

In that instant the seal rose up into a half-human shape, foaming with rage. Its eyes glowed, and the sea boiled around it.

"You betrayed me!" the Devil roared.

Sæmundur stood in the surf, wet to the knee, but calm. "No," he said. "You said that if you caught me before I stepped on land, I would be yours. Now I stand on land."

The Devil hissed so the surf recoiled. "I will catch you later."

"Many try later," said Sæmundur.

The Devil vanished into the sea with a black splash. All that remained was a sealskin, which dissolved into foam and was gone.

Sæmundur picked the book up out of the sand. It was wet and torn from the blow. He looked at it a long while. Then he walked up the shore, found a stone, and laid the book beneath it.

"Some things don't need to go further," he said.

Then he went home, where men later said that Sæmundur the Wise had come across the sea on a seal and tricked the Devil himself with a single leap.

But Sæmundur rarely spoke of the journey. When men asked whether the story was true, he only smiled and looked out to sea.

"The sea remembers much," he said. "And it doesn't always tell it rightly."