Tam Nok was tucked under the forward most- and narrowest- bench, the cloak pulled around her, the hood over her face. Ragnarok was in the rear, his back against the side of the longship, a knife in his hand as he carved a long, thick stake of oak. He wanted a new haft ready. He planned to find a metal worker in England to make him a new head for another war ax.
He had a sword, the one his father had wielded, but Ragnarok preferred the power of the ax to the sharpness of the sword. He was also proficient with spear and bow, but used those mostly to hunt, not for battle. He had men on board who were designated bowmen. Their job was to give a long distance punch to the ship, but Ragnarok knew a leader’s place was always in the forefront and using an ax had allowed him to break through several shield-walls and lead his men to victory.
When it became too dark to work, he stood next to Bjarni for a while. The shore to the west was so faint in the darkness there were many times Ragnarok could not see it, but Bjarni was steady on the rudder till.
Hrolf joined them, the three most experienced members of the crew now together around the rudder block.
“We will not be the first ship to arrive in Iceland this spring,” Hrolf noted.
“We’ve made more than enough to make up for that,” Ragnarok said.
“Enough to make up for Duartr being dead?” Hrolf asked.
“He would be dead whether we were heading for Iceland or England,” Ragnarok said.
“And abandoning Thorlak?” Hrolf was the only man on board who would dare say that.
“What should I have done?” Ragnarok asked. “Flown after the Valkyrie bitch on my wings?”
“I think you trust this woman too much,” Hrolf said. “Perhaps she lured Duartr onto the beach in the fjord. All this talk of Gods and Valkyries and weapons-” Hrolf spit over the side of the boat.
“She was not near the beach when I went ashore,” Ragnarok said. “She was climbing down the rocks. One of those strange beasts got to Duartr in the dark. And it is not a question of whether I trust this woman. It is a risk, but if this weapon she speaks of exists, it must be very powerful.”
There was only the sound of the sail taking the wind and the water against the hull for a several minutes.
“You think we might be able to return home?” Bjarni finally asked.
“If the weapon is powerful enough,” Ragnarok said, “it might be possible.”
“This is our home,” Hrolf said, slapping a callused hand on the side of the boat. “This is your home,” the old warrior continued. “Even if you went back, you would return to the sea as quickly as you could. This is what you know and what you love. It isn’t about going home for you, my friend, it is about vengeance.”
“So it is,” Ragnarok agreed, surprised at what amounted to a speech for Hrolf. “And what is wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Hrolf said, “except vengeance for you springs out of loyalty and I would recommend you consider how much your desire to revenge the dead will hurt those who are still living and loyal to you.” Hrolf pulled his cloak tight around his broad shoulders. “I am tired and the words come out without thought. I must sleep.” He climbed over the bench and made his way to his place.
Ragnarok glanced at Bjarni in the twilight. The navigator had said nothing, his eyes focused ahead, turning to the right every so often to check the coastline that was sliding by.
“Do you want to go home?” Ragnarok asked him.
Bjarni’s hands were steady on the tiller, so solid it was difficult to tell where the wood ended on the flesh began. “As Hrolf said, this ship is my home. We are here with you because our families are dead and we were loyal to your father and we are loyal to you.”
“But vengeance-” Ragnarok began, but Bjarni’s low voice interrupted.
“My Captain, we can spend the rest of our lives seeking vengeance. And if we achieve it, will not those we achieve it on have someone in their family seek vengeance on us? When does it end?”
“Ah-” Ragnarok spit over the side of the boat. “You old men have gotten soft.”
“That may well be,” Bjarni agreed.
“I am going to sleep.” Ragnarok lay down pulling his blankets tight around his body.
He woke to the not so gentle nudge of Bjarni’s boot in his chest. Ragnarok rolled to his knees, looking in the direction the dark silhouette of Bjarni pointed. Someone was moving forward along the left side of the ship, a dark lump barely visible against the almost pitch black night sky. Ragnarok got to his feet, pulling his sword out of its scabbard.
Ragnarok dropped all pretense at stealth as there was a flash of metal from the dark form- an upraised knife. Ragnarok sprinted down the ship, leaping benches and bodies. The knife struck downward near the first bench. Sparks flew as it hit metal coming up.
Ragnarok roared a battle cry, leaping the next to last bench, then came to a complete halt. Tam Nok was on her feet, parrying the next thrust of the would-be murderer with her long knife. She spun, almost faster than Ragnarok could follow and he heard the thud of her knife striking home in the man’s chest. The man staggered back, hands groping for the blade. Ragnarok grabbed him and pulled him backwards, hearing the man’s spine crack as he thrust his knee into the man’s back.
By the faint light he could finally see the face. It was Eric Thorren, one of the men who had just signed on two weeks previously. The light faded from Thorren’s eyes and the body went slack in Ragnarok’s hands. He dumped it to the floor, then stepped over it.
“Are you all right?”
Tam Nok knelt down and pulled her blade out of Thorren’s chest, wiping the metal clean on his cloak before sliding it into the sheath. “I am fine,” she said.
“He was a new man,” Ragnarok explained. “He wanted your money- then he would jump overboard and swim for shore. We wouldn’t be able to follow with the ship in the dark as there are many sandbars. I will-”
“I don’t need explanations,” Tam Nok settled back down in her place under the forward bench, pulling her hood over her face once more. “I just need you to get me where I want to go.”
Ragnarok bit back his angry reply. He was mad at himself for having even tried to offer an explanation- since when did a captain have to explain himself to a passenger and a woman at that? First Hrolf and Bjarni and now this. Things were not the way they should be.
Ragnarok turned from her. He slid a hand inside the man’s tunic and pulled out the small leather pouch that hung there on a cord around the neck. Ragnarok opened the pouch and emptied it into his hand. A single ingot of gold fell out.
It was Ragnarok’s gold- a piece that he gave to every man on his crew. It was the offering to be made to Aegir’s wife. Aegir was the Norse God of the sea, and his wife controlled the entrance from the depths of the ocean to Valhalla. A good Viking captain always made sure every member of his crew had a piece of gold so that if a mishap occurred during the voyage and the man died, his body lost at sea, he would have the offering needed to cross over.
Ragnarok put the gold piece in his own pouch, then slid Eric’s body overboard. He watched it disappear into the dark water, then stared at Tam Nok for a few seconds, before returning to his place in the rear of the boat.
Thorlak the Hardy spit, the glob hitting the creature in front of him and slowly sliding down the white, hard face. There was no reaction to his act of defiance. The Valkyrie had been standing in front of him, not moving for hours, like a piece of stone.
Thorlak had no idea where he was. He had vague memories of traveling through the dark fog, dangling in the creature’s claw. Then darkness. Then awakening in his present situation. Which was not good.
His arms were pinned back on a flat vertical surface with metal clamps tight over his one hand and the stump of his other. His legs was similarly locked down. He was naked, his clothes lying a few feet away in a dirty pile. The air was strange, thick, clammy and cold on his skin. Despite that, a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.