Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(60)

“But there is no shorter way to the North Sea,” said Eyvind, “and we must get through.”

“Go south, my young friend, through the mountain passes by Earnfold; that is my council,” the Thane said, his voice near to pleading. “The bottom of the Sund is strewn with the bones of ill-fated ships.”

Eyvind explained the trouble in the south, about Osric and the Oescans and troubles in Norholt, but skipped over any mention of Ceolwen and her claim. “The passes are no safer,” he finished.

Kjartan thought on this for a while, clucking softly as he stroked the locks of his beard. “Sail north, and see the ice for yourself. If you cannot pass through, return to my hall. Wait here with us for the summer, and the ice will surely be gone. Strong backs and steady sword arms are always needed here, and you will win much praise and silver keeping the bandits from our lands.”

Nodding his agreement, Eyvind extended a hand to the Thane. “So it shall be,” he said.





32

Heaving together, the crew pushed Unn-marr back into the chilled water, and clambered aboard as she drifted out. The warriors stowed their oars and ran up the sail once the ship had nosed out into the waves.

Kjartan and Saeunn watched and waved from the point overlooking the cove as the ship departed. Though Saeunn had insisted they stay overnight in her hall, none of the crew could bear the thought of stealing more morsels from the folk of Oddsbaer. So they had camped under the stars, and the Thane and his wife had ridden out with the sunrise to see them off.

As the ship passed the rocks where the onlookers stood, Kjartan removed something from around his neck, and with a mighty heave sent it flying toward the longship. Ceolwen snagged the item and tossed it back to Eyvind, for whom it had been intended. It was some sort of rock or bone on a leather cord, worn as a talisman.

“For luck!” cried the Thane, thumping a closed fist over his breast. Eyvind looped the string around his neck and raised his hand in farewell as he steered them out to sea.

With her shallow draft and smooth lines, Unn-marr cut a swift trail through the water. The jagged coastline wended north and they followed along its bends and breaks. There were no settlements this far out in the wild; Oddsbaer was the edge of the tamed world. Seabirds and the occasional troop of rotund seals sunning on the beach seemed the land’s only occupants.

They spotted one single sign of human passage—a broken keel and barnacle encrusted mast wedged between boulders along the beach. Sails and ropes had long since been lost to rot, and no trace was left of the sailors. The Thrym fell silent as Unn-marr swept past the wreck.

By mid-afternoon of the second day, they came to the northeastern horn of the coast, where the land fell back and began its long, westward journey. Here was the mouth of the Ormsund, their passage through to the North Sea. Evidence of the thawing icepack drifted past them, small chunks of white and blue bobbing in the waves and bumping harmlessly off the keel.

They had lost their favorable wind, and the unusual calm of the day proved a two-fold hindrance; not only were they forced to row rather than sail, but there was also no breeze to sweep away the fog.

Mist clung tight the ice, obscuring most of the strait, and the sun did little to burn away the wall of cloud. Keeping as close to the rocky coast as he could, Eyvind steered the ship into the mist. Rolf stood in the prow, peering ahead, while Aelfhild and Ceolwen stood at the railing with long spears to push away any threatening chunks of ice.

Cracking and groaning filled the air, the ice jostling as it warmed and split. They sailed blind, unable to see more than a boat length ahead, and at a snail’s pace.

Sweat stood out on the faces of the crew despite the chill, as all eyes and ears strained in the fog. Suddenly, something unseen but sizeable grated against the hull. The hollow grinding stilled every breath on the ship.

Visions of cracking wood and rushing, icy-black water filled Aelfhild’s mind.

“Hold! Hold!” Eyvind shouted.

They floated there for a moment, silent and still, waiting.

Rolf turned to his captain, eyes wide, and shook his head. Flicking the sweat from his brow, Eyvind snorted as he stared off into the fog.

“Back!” he called.

Carefully, painstakingly, they turned the ship, its keel grating at one point off the gravelly bottom of the shallow channel. Returning the way they had come, Eyvind steered them out of the fog bank and back into the sun’s welcome embrace.

No one spoke.

The taste of defeat sat bitter on all their tongues as they turned south once more and sought a berth for the ship. On a wide stretch of black sand, they came ashore and dragged Unn-marr up behind. Vidar bustled about the exposed hull, checking the damage.

Eyvind stood brooding, his gaze fixed northwards toward the Ormsund, as they made a fire and laid down their blankets.

The mood was sour that evening. Aelfhild knew that they all struggled with the question of if they should or even could push onwards. It was writ in the lines of each face. But she knew just as well that none would willingly be the first to back down, and waiting another month or more in Oddsbaer felt too much like admitting defeat.

Eyvind plopped down amongst the crew with a grunt and put his hands to the flames. His crew looked anywhere else to avoid their captain’s stare.

Aelfhild met his gaze. His eyes dared her to speak, challenged her to suggest turning back. He looked to be spoiling for a chance to vent his anger. So, instead, she asked, “What was it that Thane Kjartan gave you?”