Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Irding Eriksson

  • 3.10 – Search Parties

    3.10 – Search Parties

    Stigander knitted his eyebrows at his son’s declaration. “Explain.”

    “Those screams we heard? Those were the death-screams of their captain and a few others. Four warriors were quite literally frightened to death on their wreck. Others were torn apart on the beach while they prepared another raid on us. The restless dead walk this isle.”

    Stigander nodded. “We expected as much, did we not?”

    “Aye. We also expected the kalalintu to be not much of a threat, though.”

    “So, what? We should cut our losses and go?”

    “Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t,” Irding grumbled. “Vidofnir’s not ready to sail again.”

    Einarr shook his head. “I wasn’t suggesting that, Father, although it might be the sensible course to take. But we have nine berths open, and another ship to fill besides. Not to mention what we’ll owe on that ship.”

    Stigander pressed a hand to his forehead and pulled his hand back through his hair. “Right. Glad to hear we’re thinking of the same things. Get some sleep. We’ll figure this all out in the morning.”

    ***

    When Einarr awoke the next morning it was to silvery fog so thick he couldn’t see the men to either side of them on the deck. The smell of salt pork called to him, though, and so he was reassured that he was not alone on board. A silly concern, ordinarily, but after what he’d seen last night…

    “So who all managed to sleep last night?” He made his voice light and jocular as he approached the hearth and the source of the meaty smell. There were only a handful of men up yet and clustered around the warmth of the breakfast pot, and each and every one of them looked as haggard as he felt.

    “How does one typically sleep when the presence of murderous spirits has just been graphically confirmed?” Jorir grumbled. He hadn’t gone along last night, but had awakened when they returned.

    “That depends, I rather think, on how exhausted one is beforehand.” Erik, too, took on a half-joking tone which was nearly spoiled by a yawn. “For my part, morning came too soon.”

    “No joke.” Einarr sat on the deck between the dwarf and the burly man to warm his hands over the embers. “But we can’t just sit on our hands back here. We’ve an island to search and a boat to fix.”

    “That we do, although we’re not likely to do much of either before this fog lifts.” Snorli’s voice sounded from out of the mist as he stepped up to join them and lifted the lid on the pot. “Well, grab your bowls. This cooks much longer and it’ll be mush, not dumplings.”

    Those were the magic words. As if on cue, everyone who hadn’t already been hovering over the pot arrived, wooden bowls in hand, and the Vidofnings fell to eating. Even in those close quarters Einarr could make out the faces of less than half the other Vidofnings.

    It was, therefore, something of a surprise when Stigander’s voice rang across the deck, clear as a bell although he was nowhere to be seen. “We’ll be forming teams today,” he announced. “The repair crew hasn’t changed. The rest of us will form groups of ten and all search in our own area. The sooner we find what we came for the sooner we can get out of here, and hopefully avoid more personal run-ins with the local monstrosities.”

    Einarr pursed his lips. The idea made some sense, but nevertheless left him uneasy. “What does Reki think of this idea? Weren’t we counting on her songs to ward off the dead?”

    Rather than letting Stigander convey her meaning, the low-voiced woman answered for herself. “I believe it sensible.” She cleared her throat, but not before Einarr caught hoarseness in it. “By spreading out our forces, we maximize the amount of ground we cover while minimizing the danger to any one group. While I intend to participate in the search, I believe that, barring some emergency during the day, my voice is best preserved for warding the Vidofnir at night.”

    Einarr bowed his head in the direction her voice came from. “As you say, it is best that your voice be preserved.”

    Stigander took too paces towards where the Vidofnings gathered for breakfast and emerged from the fog. “Bardr and I will each take a team. Einarr, you take one as well. That’s three: I want two more groups. We’ll draw lots for them. I’m passing around a bowl: if you’re interested, drop in your ring.”

    Most of the Vidofnings passed the bowl and continued to eat, but there were more than enough clinks of metal against wood to round out the teams and then some. Einarr went over in his head who he would choose for his team as he chewed: Jorir, obviously, or the dwarf would never forgive him. Erik, if the man wasn’t leading a team of his own. Who else?

    “Is that everyone?” Bardr asked, only partially obscured by the thick fog.

    Unnaturally thick fog? Einarr shook his head to rid himself of the thought. The idea was ludicrous. No-one else answered Bardr, either.

    “Very well then. Captain, would you do the honors?”

    Stigander cleared his throat and turned towards where Bardr was holding out the bowl. The sound of clinking metal carried across the deck. Eventually, he read out the first name: “Arring takes a team.”

    Another long moment of clinking rings followed, and then Father spoke again. “And the last team will be led by… Sivid?”

    Einarr’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. Sivid? It was odd for him to step up like this. He had to be counting on that strange luck of his turning in his favor… but the idea left a queasy feeling in Einarr’s stomach. This seemed like one Hel of a gamble.

    “Finish your breakfast and arm yourselves, then meet on the beach immediately. Daylight’s wasting.”

    “Such as it is,” Erik muttered.

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  • 3.9 – Investigation

    3.9 – Investigation

    The screams of terror from off in the distance brought Einarr out of his half-doze immediately. Almost before he knew it he was back on his feet, pulling on his chain shirt and reaching for his sword.

    He was not the only one. From all over the ship he saw bodies moving about. Stigander lit a torch and watched, his lips pursed. He didn’t try to stop them, though, only ordered caution. With grunts of assent, the fifteen who rousted themselves to investigate vaulted back out of the Vidofnir.

    Stigander stopped Einarr a moment after he left the deck and thrust a torch into his hand. “You’ll want this. You have a spare?”

    “I do.”

    Stigander nodded and stepped back from the railing as Einarr dropped to the sand below.

    ***

    When they arrived, silence reigned. The freeboaters’ ship could have been just another derelict on the shore. Einarr could not catch even a hint of movement from the deck, although the soft glow spoke of a lit lamp. Cautiously, he approached, torch held high out in front of their band. Weapons littered the sand around their feet. Many of them were still sheathed.

    And then he noticed the smell, not of battle but of death – of bile and blood and waste that spoke of fear. He stepped forward again and the torchlight revealed an arm lying on blood-stained sand.

    The body laying near that severed arm wore a chain shirt. Even sprawled in undignified death, his shield was slung over his shoulder. A raid?

    The bodies they found were all similarly equipped, although all wounded differently. “Looks like we’d have been in for a rude awakening in the morning,” Einarr muttered.

    “Can you really fault them?” Erik grumbled. “Plain as day their boat’s done for.”

    Einarr nodded, his attention still on the body at his feet. He crouched down for a better look: what could have taken the man’s arm off? He sighed and shook his head: there were still kalalintu on the island, but they weren’t typically of a mind to dismember their prey, or to leave perfectly good food laying on the beach like this. The island wasn’t that big: could there be a bear?

    He shook his head. A bear made no sense, and would have left tracks on the sand.  The only ones he saw were human. Standing, Einarr looked around the beach. Other dark lumps, that at first he had taken for bits of flotsam or rocks, now suggested strewn corpses. He shuddered. “Let’s have a look on deck. Maybe we’ll find something there.”

    He picked his way around the fallen warriors littering the sand over to the side of the boat and handed the torch to the next behind him. He had a feeling he knew what he was going to find, but pulled himself onto the deck of the freeboater’s ship anyway. He took the torch back to allow the rest to join him and turned to survey the damage.

    The deck was all but deserted. Einarr paced slowly back towards the stern as a stream of footfalls fell on wood behind him. A few embers glowed in the hearth around a heavy iron pot. Here and there he saw a blanket or a pair of boots laid out to dry, but no more corpses.

    Not until the torchlight touched the very back of the aftcastle, that was. Einarr stopped, staring. Four men, one of whom appeared to be the man who had so roundly rejected their offer of aid.

    The mens’ faces were sallow and drawn, almost as though they had been desiccated, their eyes frozen open so wide they might not have had eyelids any longer. There was not a drop of blood to be seen in the torchlight. If Einarr hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed they had been rotting here for months.

    The screams echoed again in his mind: the sound matched the expression he saw on these faces. “It’s as though… they died of fear,” he mused.

    A grunt answered from over his shoulder. “But what could do that to a group like this?” Irding’s voice was breathy.

    “You know the answer to that as well as I do.” Einarr pressed his lips into a thin line. He sighed, and then turned to face the rest of the group. “Anyone else find anything?”

    No-one answered. Einarr couldn’t tell if that was because they’d come to the same conclusions he had, or if they couldn’t quite process what they’d seen. It had been a very long day, after all. “In that case, we should get back. It seems as though there’s nothing left to save here anyway.”

    When he handed the torch back out of the boat, Einarr happened to look back toward the aftcastle. It could have been the light, he supposed, but it seemed like he saw a sickly greenish glow coming from where the bodies had lain.

    He shook his head and vaulted back to the ground, his boots landing hard in the blood-stained sand. Once he’d retaken the light he set a demanding pace back toward the Vidofnir and the protection of Reki’s tired voice.

    ***

    “We have returned, Father!” Einarr announced from the shore in the shadow of the Vidofnir.

    Stigander’s head popped over the side of their boat and he nodded. He, too, seemed to glow, but it was with the warm light of fire. “Come aboard.”

    The men who had gone to investigate did so with perhaps more relief than any of them would care to admit to, at least under ordinary circumstances. For a time they all stood in silence, enjoying the warmth and light coming from their own hearth while their Captain studied their faces.

    “Well?” He asked finally.

    Einarr met his father’s eye with a level gaze of his own. “The villagers were right.”

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  • 3.7 – Battles’ End

    3.7 – Battles’ End

    The quick man had at the end not been quick enough, and the enemy leader wasted a precious moment in shock. The first man still stared in horror at the blade protruding from his chest when Arring lunged past him and the blade of his axe took off the enemy leader’s arm at the elbow.

    “It’s not too late to retreat,” he growled. The other man’s answer was to let his ally slide from the blade, but his face had gone pale.

    “Have it your way.” Arring brought his back foot forward and kicked, hard. The enemy leader went flying again, even as the crack of bone said his chest was caved in. Tveir.

    Now he turned. Snorli faced three men, but after Arring he was the man on watch best equipped to deal with that. Haki, though, looked like he might be in some trouble. The man stood watching his opponents, panting, as they circled him the way wolves might circle a deer.

    Arring let loose another battle roar and bulled forward at the nearest of the two. It was enough to distract the man from Haki, and then axe met long sword in the bind.

    His new opponent snarled, and Arring met it with a feral grin before sliding inside the man’s guard to cut at his knee.

    His opponent’s leg buckled with the force of the blow and he howled. Another of the assault squad dashed by him to catch his wounded comrade under the shoulder.

    They’re retreating? At least they know when they’re beaten. Arring was inclined to let them go. Some of the others started to pursue.

    “Stand down. Our job is here. If they come back we can beat them like the curs they are.”

    ***

    Einarr lunged toward a kalalintu that had come just within reach and nearly tripped over the carcass of one of its fellows. Reki’s battle chant had become a song of Endurance he knew not how long ago, and he was fairly certain it was the only reason any of them could still fight. Sinmora slashed across its back and the creature crumpled. How many is that now?

    When the fury had faded he had been relieved to see that they had broken away from the cliff face the creatures were trying to drive them off of – but somehow it felt like there were always more kalalintu.

    Except… did he hear them any more? The sea-bird shrieks had blurred and been forgotten ages ago, but now they actually seemed to be gone. Einarr looked up: they stood in the center of a field littered with bodies, not all of them monsters. Sinmora nearly dropped from his hand. He cleaned it on a feathered wing and sheathed his blade before he could lose hold of it.

    The kalalintu that wing had belonged to had fallen across the body of Henir. Of the thirty men who had gone to seek their fortune, six had fallen to the bloody birds, and the rational voice in his head whispered that they had been fortunate to lose so few. Still he could not look away. When Henir fell, the arrow he had not had a chance to fire remained stuck to the string.

    He swallowed the gorge that threatened to rise and strode over to where Jorir stood tying a bandage for Irding. This made eleven men they had lost so far this summer, between the Valkyries and the kalalintu. Most summers they lost none. “How is he?”

    “Well enough, I wager, but we’ll need to watch him for fever. More importantly -”

    “What about you?”

    Jorir snorted. “I was bloody worthless in that fight, right up until Fari over there hadn’t any more use for that brace of knives he carried. But I’m not wounded. You, though, you look like you’ve been through hell.”

    Henir and Fari. They’d been like brothers. At least they would sup with the gods together. “I’ve had better days. …Father. Erik.”

    The others were joining them in ones and twos, picking their way across the battlefield.

    “Einarr. These things seem awfully tough compared to the flocks this spring to you?”

    He nodded. “Smarter, too. Makes me wonder what else we’re up against.”

    “Wonder later.” Stigander looked around and sighed. “For right now, we need to get our men down from here and build a proper pyre for those as need it.”

    “Yes, sir,” came the unanimous reply.

    “I don’t think they’ll try for us again after that thrashing we gave them, but let’s all be a little quicker when someone tells you to cover your ears, got it?”

    A chorus of aye’s answered Stigander, and they went to work carting the bodies of the fallen down the narrow trail that had led them to their end in the first place. It was awkward work, but with three men to a body they still had enough people for an honor guard both before and behind their procession.

    Down on the beach, Irding and Svarek were dispatched to alert the watch and the repair crews, respectively, of what had occurred. The rest of them, meanwhile, were to gather wood and what funeral goods they could find from about the beach. It was far from ideal, but better a poor funeral than none at all.

    His arms half-full of wood, Einarr’s gathering took him over near his liege-man. “What think you, Jorir? Are we going to find anything here that’s worth all this?”

    “Find something? Sure. Whether or not its worth what we pay for it, well, only time will tell.”

    “Ah, here’s something.” Einarr brushed the sand away from the lid of a half-buried trunk with his free hand, then thought better of it and set down the wood he’d gathered. “Help me dig this out, will you?”

    The trunk the two uncovered appeared to have once belonged to a Singer, or perhaps an entire troupe of Singers, and was filled with all manner of instruments and jewelry. Einarr shared a look with Jorir: this should make a fine funerary offering.

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  • 3.4 – Rivals

    3.4 – Rivals

    From where Einarr stood he saw nothing but mist and ocean and the bones of ships. “What happened?”

    Sivid’s head popped over the railing from above. “Those freeboaters following us seem to have missed a turn.”

    “They’re freeboaters?”

    “Pretty sure. Cap’ and Bardr are ‘discussing’ sending aid.”

    “What’s there to discuss? Of course we should help them out.”

    “And if they’re hostile?”

    “We’ll teach them a lesson, of course.”

    Sivid laughed and his head disappeared back behind the ship. “Looks like the Captain won that one. We’re coming down!”

    ***

    Their shadow had been rather unceremoniously dumped aground a good half-mile down the coast from where the Vidofnir had made landfall, a good hundred feet out from shore but, for the moment, at least mostly connected by a series of sandbars. Whether that would last with the changing of the tide remained to be seen.

    Her crew swarmed about like ants, offloading anything and everything they could carry as though it might help them get off this island again. Their ship certainly wasn’t: where the Vidofnir was gouged, they had a rather horrendous crack.

    “Ho there!” Stigander called as they neared the broken vessel.

    The crew stopped moving as a unit and turned to look at them.

    “I am Stigander Raensson of the Vidofnir, and these are my men. We thought you might like some assistance.”

    A figure emerged from the deck and hopped lightly down to squelch in the sand. The brown-haired and bearded man took several slow steps toward them, wiping his hand with a rag. “You’re the boat we kept seeing ahead of us?”

    “And you’re the ones who were tailing us.”

    “Tailing nothing,” he spat. “We planned out our route in months ago. Go see to your own.”

    Stigander raised an eyebrow. “Well, suit yourself, friend. If you change your mind we’ll be up the beach a ways, doing exactly as you suggest.”

    They turned, and with a shrug began sauntering back up the sand to the shore proper.

    “Wait!” The voice came from behind them. When they turned to see what the commotion was, a younger man from the other boat was hurrying up to speak with the one who had come to send them off. For a moment, it looked as though he would have his ear boxed for his trouble. At the last moment, their spokesman turned it to a clap on the shoulder.

    “I’m not sure I like this,” Einarr whispered to his Father.

    Stigander nodded. “Walk on, men.”

    “Good sirs,” came the suddenly obsequious voice of the spokesman when they were perhaps five steps further on.

    The Vidofnings continued walking. The call did not come again.

    ***

    The crew of the Vidofnir split off into three parties. The first, and smallest, was to guard the ship, led by Arring. With the unknown crew stranded here, leaving the boat unattended struck everyone involved as unwise. The second headed east, towards the freeboaters, their first task to find good wood for patching the scar in their hull.

    The third party was by far the largest. Had there been anyone to fight on the island, they would have been the raiding party. Einarr shouldered his shield and joined them, hardly alone in the precaution.

    “So are we ready to find out what sort of a haul might be waiting for us here?” He half-grinned, clapping Erik on the shoulder.

    Sivid laughed. No-one else ventured more than a nervous grin, save Reki. He thought she actually smiled under her hood, but it was difficult to tell.

    “You’re not all still worried about the ghosts of sailors, are you? Have some faith in our Singer.”

    “It’s not just that,” Irding grumbled. “I don’ know about the rest of ye, but what sort of luck will we be bringing on ourselves like this? Not like the Allthane’s wealth did him much good.”

    Sivid laughed again. “If luck’s what you’re worried about, I think I’ve got us covered.”

    Erik cocked an eyebrow. “But you’ve terrible luck.”

    “I think we can trust him with this one, anyway.” Einarr spoke quickly to avoid forcing Sivid to dissemble. There was plainly a reason the man continually played and lost at dice, based on his Weaving, and if that got around the crew he’d never get in another game. “Are we all here?”

    “Captain’s leaving some orders with the others,” Bardr answered. “Give him a few minutes.”

    Stigander sauntered up behind his first mate. “I’m what now?”

    To his credit, Bardr did not jump. “You were leaving instructions, weren’t you? But it looks as though we’re all here now.”

    “Indeed we are. Now. Onward, and let us see if there is anything worth finding on this rock.”

    Stigander led the way up the beach. Most of the wrecks they could see were rather thoroughly decomposed, empty skeletons of ships, their contents long ago rotted or washed out to sea or, possibly, buried beneath the sand… but they felt like unpromising places to dig.

    Einarr was just as glad most of the crew was on the treasure hunt. He was not so indifferent to the atmosphere on the island as he pretended, and though the fog had lifted the gray haze weighed gloomily on their shoulders.

    He shook his head. There was no sense worrying about it now: each and every one of them had known what they were signing up for when they chose this path. The only thing to be done now was to fill their hold quickly and get back to the open ocean, outside the maze of sandbars that trapped so many boats.

    It was hard to tell the passage of time under the haze. After they had walked for a period, occasionally pausing to evaluate a wreck for promising finds, a strange noise came to Einarr’s ears. He stopped, closing his eyes to listen.

    “…Seabirds?” He muttered, still trying to place it. They sounded almost like the gulls that had flocked about Kem Harbor, but he had seen no feathers along the shore. He shook his head: now he knew the sound. “Kalalintu.”

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  • 3.2 – Icy Seas

    3.2 – Icy Seas

    Over the course of a week the seas plied by the whalers of Attilsund and, now, the Vidofnir grew colder, until it felt more like they were out early in the spring rather than the middle of summer. That they had not yet seen floating ice did not reassure Einarr about the lack of icebergs in the area.

    No ice did not mean no thing, however. Occasionally, through the fog off to the east, he thought he saw the shadow of a ship. When he mentioned it to Bardr, the man nodded and doubled the watch.

    The move from calm seas to rough waters was just as gradual. They were a week and a half out from Attilsund when they started doing battle with the sail, and a few days beyond that the currents grew mischievous.

    The mysterious ship was closer, when it appeared again, although still too far to make out its banner. The Vidofnir assumed a battle footing until they once again lost sight of their shadow

    Svarek was tasked with helping Sivid watch the sounding line, just as Irding joined Erik wrestling the sail. The sea was wearing them down, and their target had not yet come into view through the mist that always seemed to obscure the horizon line. And they whale these waters?

    On the thirteenth day, a dark shape seemed to rise in the mist out on the horizon. “Land ho!” came the cry from the forecastle.

    “Ready oars!” Stigander ordered.

    One hour passed, then another, before they felt the waters begin to tug at their boat in earnest and the sounders called a warning. “Hard starboard!”

    The oarsmen put their backs into the turn. A moment later a gust of wind puffed into the sail and chilled their necks. Then the true challenge began.

    Einarr’s forearms bulged as he fought with his oar, his ears straining for orders from Captain or sounding line. The Vidofnir pitched underfoot. He could be grateful, at least, that there was no rain to slick the deck.

    For what felt like hours they fought their way past hidden shoals and unpredictable winds. Now Einarr saw ice when he looked up and, when he had a moment to breathe and looked behind them, their shadow, following the same approach to the ship-barrow that the Vidofnir had plied. “Looks like we’ve got competition, boys!”

    Their shadow-ship bore a blue and white sail, and still they were too far to make out the creature on their banner.

    “Let ‘em come!” Erik’s laughter was met with cheers from elsewhere on deck.

    “Let’s see if they’ve got the guts for what comes next.” Stigander crossed his arms and stared dead ahead. “Mind your oars! Prepare to retract on my word!”

    “Aye, sir!” The Chute was ahead where, based on the sea charts and their best reckoning, the safest route forward would take them up a narrow channel between two large rocks jutting up out of the sea.

    Stigander took his time getting the Vidofnir lined up to shoot the gap.

    A cold wind filled their sail. “Row for all you’re worth, boys!”

    They put their backs into it, unsure even now if the channel would be wide enough for their ship, hoping momentum might carry them through a tight squeeze.

    The cliffs drew up rapidly on either side. As the cock’s head of the Vidofnir entered the shadow of the rocks they seemed to loom overhead.

    “Oars in!”

    With one practiced motion and the clatter of wood striking wood, the oarsmen stowed their oars.

    “I want half of you on battle footing. Be on the lookout for kalalintu, or any hostile movements from the ship that’s tailing us. The rest of you stay put in case we have to pole off the rocks.”

    Einarr moved to battle footing, feeling only a little bad for those who were too slow to escape oar watch. He wasn’t likely to shiver less than they, and while the possibility of a kalalintu attack was a real danger, they didn’t exactly stir the blood.

    “Portside nudge.”

    His father’s voice echoed twice as loud off the water’s surface and the rock walls, even over the whistling wind, and Einarr started. Calm down. We’ll make it.

    The gobbling screech of kalalintu floated down the chasm to his ears, but the winged fish remained out of sight. Einarr glanced up: the sky had shaded from blue to silver since they’d entered the chute.

    “Starboard nudge.”

    Einarr managed not to jump that time. The wind seemed to be dying down, though, and he thought he heard the tell-tale creaking of wood from off behind them. It seemed odd, though, that he could not see them now.

    He blinked. It wasn’t just the sky that had gone grey: the cliff ledges far above were shrouded with haze, as well as anything more than about a hundred feet forward or back of the Vidofnir. It seemed to have gotten colder, as well: when he exhaled, he could see his breath.

    A low muttering rose around the deck of the Vidofnir as the others noticed this as well. Einarr thought he heard some of the men praying forgiveness from the ancestors for what they were about to do. Not that it was likely to do much good. Well. If it came down to it, they could sacrifice some of whatever they found to grant the shipwrecked spirits a proper rest. But first, they had to make it through the chute to the isle of wrecks.

    The Vidofnir rocked and wood ground against stone.

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  • 3.1 – Leaving Attilsund

    3.1 – Leaving Attilsund

    Bardr must have purchased miles’ worth of extra rope for this expedition, and as much fresh water as they could store. Even still, it was a short journey from Attilsund, and spirits were high as they loaded the Vidofnir with supplies for a six-week trek to investigate the ship barrow.

    To Einarr’s mind, most of the crew were too focused on the potential rewards once they got there by half. He didn’t doubt they could do it, of course, but those who failed to respect the sea were often claimed by her. For his part, he joined his father in reviewing the local charts.

    The waters of Svartlauf seemed an apt comparison indeed. While there was unlikely to be an eternal tempest surrounding this area, the rock formations suggested terrible winds indeed.

    “I’m glad we’ve a Singer with such a powerful voice,” he said at one point, tapping a particularly narrow passage where the currents were likely to be troublesome. “I’m not sure we would have been able to hear Astrid over these winds. What do you make of this? Will we fit?”

    Stigander hummed in thought. “Hope so, otherwise we’ll have to back out and circle around, come in over here.”

    Einarr shuddered. “You mean where we’d have to pole off the rocks to get anywhere? I’ll take my chances with the chute. That was bad enough in the Gufuskalam.”

    “Which reminds me. Has anyone thought to ask about kalalintu?”

    “No more than an ordinary harassment,” Bardr put in. “A flock, maybe two. Nowhere near a colony.”

    “That’s something.” Einarr glanced up to see Irding and Svarek hovering just within earshot of their conversation. “A moment.”

    The two newcomers to the crew tried to make themselves look busy as he approached. “What seems to be the trouble?”

    “Ah, no trouble, sir.” Svarek started, but he wouldn’t look at Einarr while he said it.

    “Bollocks. You two are nervous as fresh-weaned deer, and I’m quite sure I saw you joining in with everyone when we voted. Out with it.”

    Irding scratched the back of his skull sheepishly. “Ah, well, it’s like this. We were talking in the square earlier, nothin’ too serious, about what we might find out there. One of the village boys must’ve overheard, ‘cause he comes by and tells us we’re fools fer goin’, ‘cause even if we get past the rocks we’ll have spirits to deal with.”

    “Spirits?” Einarr raised an eyebrow.

    “The restless dead,” Svarek filled in.

    Now Einarr smiled, shaking his head. “Lads, if that’s all you’re worried about, get back to work. Even if the island is haunted, we’ve got one of the finest Singers I’ve ever met. She’ll keep our courage up, and so long as we’ve got that spirits can’t touch us. Okay?”

    They both nodded, although Einarr thought he saw them swallow first. “Good work, finding that out though. Now get back to work. We’ll be sailing soon.”

    Bardr raised an eyebrow as he returned to the table where the charts were spread out.

    “One of the locals brought up the possibility of spirits.”

    “Ah.” Bardr nodded. With as many sailors as were likely unburied on that island, it was a reasonable concern, but not one they were totally unprepared for.

    “I’m sure she does, but Reki does know the grave songs, right?”

    “I’ve never met a Singer who didn’t,” Stigander grumbled. “But I’ll confirm.”

    ***

    When the Vidofnir put off from Attilsund with the evening tide, it was with an odd mix of sobriety and ebullience. Reki, as she stepped to the bow of the ship to begin the recitation, carried silence in her wake: there were two who had not yet heard the Song of Raen, for they had not been in port long enough at Apalvik to warrant its recitation. Truth be told, were it not for the dangerous waters they approached, they might have let it slide for the few days they had been here.

    Watching the new crew’s reactions to the Song was interesting. Svarek wept – as some few did, their first hearing, although it felt to Einarr as though there were a personal note to it. Irding, on the other hand, stood by his father’s side, clenching and unclenching his fist. He’s going to fit right in.

    Then, as the last lines faded over the water, Einarr sidled back to the prow to join his own father, Bardr, and Jorir with a cask of mead. Knowing he was their way of breaking the curse brought them little closer to actually doing so, after all.

    Dawn this far north, when it came, was crisp and bright, with little of the warmth you might see in the sky farther south.

    “All right, you lot, let’s move!” Bardr was bellowing to bring those still addled by last night’s drink to their feet. “We’ve got two weeks before the waters get rough, and we’ve still got a few things left to repair from those thrice-cursed Valkyries.”

    Einarr yawned, well aware that they were all above the water line, and not much more troublesome than a split in a deck board or a weak patch of sail. It would have been nice, though, if Bardr had shown a little consideration for the morning after the recitation.

    The rest of the crew was stirring, with about as much enthusiasm as Einarr felt. Fine. We’re up. Best get moving or I’ll freeze. He stood, stomping his feet in his boots to start the blood flowing. It was strange, though: they had only just left Attilsund, and already the temperature seemed to have dropped rather drastically. Mentally, he cursed.

    “Eyes open for ice, everyone.” They might not see any today, but with as unseasonably cold as the air was Einarr wouldn’t be surprised to see a floe or two. This was going to be a long few weeks.

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  • 2.9 – Son of Erik

    2.9 – Son of Erik

    Einarr returned to the Vidofnir late that evening with Bardr and Jorir several silver poorer and an equal number of tankards less thirsty, with only two potential recruits found.

    Bardr clapped him on the shoulder as they approached the Vidofnir’s mooring. “Don’t worry about it. Two men in an afternoon, on your first day out? That’s hard to complain about.”

    Einarr shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was supposed to have done more.

    “Don’t look now,” Jorir interrupted. “But I think something happened while we were out.”

    Men swarmed about the docks in front of their boat. The three men exchanged a look before taking off at a jog for the ship they called home.

    The crew was clustered in a ring around the gangplank, with the men on the outside jockeying for position. Three men stood in the center of the ring: Erik, leaning on his crutch; the slight, cinnamon-haired Irding, looking like nothing so much as a reduced copy of the man; and Stigander, standing between them.

    Einarr glanced around: Sivid was currently on the outside of the ring, at least for the moment. “Oy!” He tapped the small man on the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

    “That skinny guy – said you sent him? Hadn’t been here ten minutes before he walked up to Erik and popped him, right in the jaw. Right now the Captain’s the only thing keeping those two from fighting.”

    Einarr sighed. Of course. “Coming through!”

    The Vidofnings didn’t exactly part to let him pass, but they didn’t try to stop him, either. Stigander acknowledged his arrival in the center of the circle with a silent nod.

    “Father. What goes on here?”

    “Just a little tension with one of your new arrivals.”

    “Talk to the cripple over there!” Irding jumped in. “I wanted to leave it be where it was.”

    Predictably, Erik’s face reddened with anger. Not that Einarr could fault him.

    He took a deep breath, trying not to let the newcomer’s bluster get to him, too. “So tell me. Why did you feel the need to punch one of our best men immediately after you were let on board?”

    “Ask him if the name ‘Kenna’ means anything to him.”

    Erik’s anger slowly changed from anger to confusion, and then to remembrance. “Kenna? Lovely girl, she was. How is she these days?”

    “Dead.”

    Erik blinked.

    “Kenna. The woman you seduced and abandoned here in Apalvik twenty years ago. My mother, who always believed you’d come back for her, died of the pox last winter.”

    “Kenna was… She… I have a son?”

    Irding glared at the man who was, in fact, his father. Stigander pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, while Einarr shook his head.

    “There was some justice in your assault, then,” Stigander finally said. “This does not change that now I have to decide if I actually want to let you on my ship.”

    “If you will have me, I would stay. For my part, the punch was sufficient… because I should like to know the man who fathered me.”

    Einarr looked at his father. “If he is Erik’s son, doesn’t that make him just as much a man of Briedelsteinn as me?”

    Erik still looked poleaxed by the revelation that he had a son, although the vestiges of excitement looked to be building. If he’d fathered other children, plainly their mothers had not seen fit to inform him of it.

    “So it does. Erik? Will having this man on board be a problem?”

    “I have a son…” He shook his head, the question finally registering. “No. Not a problem. Evidently I deserved that one.”

    Stigander jerked his chin down in a decisive nod. “Very well. Irding Eriksson, welcome aboard the Vidofnir, last refuge of the Sons of Raen. You’ve already met my son, I believe. The men who were with him are Bardr, the Mate, and our smith Jorir.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Do not expect special treatment because your father is one of our top warriors. I assure you that Einarr gets none.”

    “Understood, sir.”

    “Good! Now, I believe you were on your way to help unload when you decided to assault my sailor. Get to it!”

    * * *

    Among the crowd that had gathered with the crew to watch the budding fight were several local merchants. Some of them muttered about reducing their bids on account of the disruption. Thankfully, a quiet word with Bardr and an inspection of the goods in question forestalled that outcome.

    Erik disappeared not long after their cargo was offloaded, and reappeared with a cask under each arm more than an hour later. The man’s face was red, and already he smelled of mead, but unless Einarr was very much mistaken Erik was actually happy to learn he had a bastard. Einarr shook his head: he would wait until his friend was somewhat less ebullient before he asked “what about the others?”

    Irding kept to the shadows near the side of the boat, for the most part – until Erik caught sight of him.

    “Come, have a drink with us! Let yer old man get to know you.” Erik already had a small crowd around him, in truth. Einarr beckoned from the edge of it. Erik would find himself wedged in an awkward place soon enough, but for tonight it was true that they had found another man of the clan – even if he didn’t quite recognize it yet.

    Einarr’s other foundling, a broad-shouldered young man calling himself Svarek, arrived with the first light of dawn, a pack slung over his shoulder and a double-bitted axe at his belt. He was the third son of a local freeholder, he said, and his options were join a crew or join a priesthood. It was a common tale, but neither Einarr, Bardr, nor Stigander could find a reason why he shouldn’t come aboard.

    The Vidofnir remained under-strength, but still they sailed with the morning tide, beseeching Eira for fair winds and no more hunters.

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  • 2.8 – Butcher’s Bill

    2.8 – Butcher’s Bill

    The days following the battle with the Valkyries were somber, as well they should be: five Vidofnings fell to the Order’s hunters. Three of them had remembered Raenshold better than Einarr himself did. Those five had ridden the enemy ship to the afterlife in a blaze of glory, and left five more empty berths on the Vidofnir.

    If there was one bright spot, it was the treasure they had found in the Geirskögul’s hold, packed into every spare inch beneath the deck boards of the Vidofnir. The morning after the funeral, Stigander had directed them north to a friendly port, only a little out of their way. No-one could quite get out of their head, though, what those five newly empty berths meant.

    As the Vidofnir prepared to dock at the Apalvik pier – larger than Kjellvic, but still no match for the bustle of Kem – Stigander called Einarr aside.

    “We’ll be in port a few days while we find a buyer for our takings, so I want you to do something for me. Take Bardr and Jorir and head into town, see if you can’t find us a few more hands.”

    “Yes, Father… but, you’re leaving this to me?”

    “’Course I am. How else are you supposed to build a crew for the new ship? Bardr’s got a good eye for people, he’ll point you in the right direction – and with your liege-man along you’ll weed out anyone who has a problem with svartdvergr. Hopefully anyone who’ll be bothered by Reki, too.”

    Einarr nodded. “I understand, Father. I will find us worthy successors to Arngeirr and the others.”

    Stigander clapped him on the shoulder, a broad smile spreading under his pale yellow moustache. “Happy hunting, then.”

    ***

    Bardr passed by no fewer than three public houses before finding one that suited his criteria. “Too nice, and the patrons will turn up their noses at a ship like ours, even assuming they aren’t already signed on with someone. Too rough and, well, I think you can guess.”

    Einarr nodded as they settled into a corner table, scanning the faces in the room for potential prospects. Too rough a place would attract men who were little more than scoundrels, and Stigander was not interested in a sailor he couldn’t trust. He nudged Jorir with the back of his hand and dropped a small stack of silver in front of the dwarf. “Mind picking up the first round?”

    He snorted. “Assuming there’s anything worth drinking in this place. Back in a few.”

    Bardr nodded as Jorir sauntered off towards the center of the room. “Good call. Who watches him, and why?”

    Most of the patrons noted the presence of a swarthy dwarf in the hall with an indifferent shrug or a glance out the corner of their eye before turning back to their own business. Fewer watched warily in case of trouble, plainly expecting that Jorir would be the cause of it in one way or another. Of the remaining patrons, about half were curious to see a dwarf in their tavern, while the other half sneered.

    “This at least tells us who not to approach,” Einarr murmured. “The curious ones, what do you make of them?”

    Bardr pursed his lips and hummed. “One or two of them might be worth talking to. Got a hunch most of them aren’t looking for a new ship right now, though. Look at how they’re drinking, how they’re dressed.”

    “Mm. Not a desperate lot, this bunch.”

    “Not as such, but ‘desperate’ isn’t really the qualification we’re looking for.” Bardr pressed his lips together, scanning the room, as Jorir returned to his seat.

    Einarr slid one of the mugs over in front of himself. “Thanks.”

    Jorir grunted. “Fine. Mind tellin’ me why we’re here when the rest of the crew is back at the boat?”

    “Recruiting. Thought you’d have guessed that.”

    “Ah.” He shook his head. “Somehow didn’t think yer Pa would be big on bringing in new blood.”

    “Gotta keep our strength up if we want to take our holdings back. Not like my uncle will just roll over for us when we sail back into port.”

    “Einarr, you see the man over in the corner, trying not to look at us now? Looks like Erik’s Ma and Sivid had a love child?”

    Einarr tried not to laugh at the description as he nodded that he saw the man.

    “Try talking to him.”

    He chuckled as he stood. “Sure he’s not one of Erik’s get? I’d be surprised if the man didn’t have near as many sons as mistresses.”

    “Does it matter if he is?”

    “Depends. Here goes nothing.” Einarr took a long swig from the mug Jorir had brought to their table before sauntering off across the room. He felt eyes following him, and thought them largely a different set than the ones that had followed Jorir. Many of the men who had been indifferent to the dwarf alone were interested in the man the dwarf was with.

    “Mind if I join you?” He asked the man, who did indeed look like he could be Erik’s much smaller brother – or son.

    “Seat’s empty,” the stranger grunted.

    “My thanks.” Einarr swung a leg over the chair and leaned his elbows on the table, hoping the casual display also came off as unthreatening. “You from around here?”

    “Hereabouts.” The stranger watched him warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

    “Looking for a berth?”

    “Friend might be.”

    “Your ‘friend’ a warrior?”

    “He’s a fair hand, yeah, with axe or sword and shield.”

    Einarr studied the man openly for a long moment. “Well, I might have a berth to offer, if this ‘friend’ of yours is loyal and true, and meets a few other qualifications. The dwarf you were staring at is on the crew, and our Singer is an albino. Your ‘friend’ is still interested, tell him to come find the Vidofnir at the docks and to say Einarr sent him. We’re only in port until we find a buyer for our recent acquisitions, so tell him not to wait too long.”

    “I’ll be sure to let him know, yeah.” The man’s face brightened now, and suddenly Einarr had a better feeling about him.

    “You have any other friends in this town who might be looking for such a berth? We had a few open up just recently.”

    The man shook his head. “’Fraid not. I stick out like a sore thumb around these parts.”

    Einarr shrugged. “Fair enough. If Father likes you, I imagine you’ll fit right in with us. Although…” He remembered the pretense, now. “If your ‘friend’ shows up, what name should I expect?”

    “Irding. Irding Eriksson.”

    Inwardly, Einarr groaned. Outwardly, he shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe our Mate is trying to catch my attention.” This oughta be interesting. One down, four to go.

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